Mistakes of the Past: The First X-Games
by Elim9
Summary: "This is a moment. A moment to repeat the mistakes of the past, or to work together for a better future. The next move is yours."
1. A Moment

**Disclaimer:** I do not own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** This is another one of those "I've wanted to see someone do one of these, but no one ever seems to finish them, so I finally decided to do one myself" things. I've seen several "superpower" SYOTs get started, most of them with some sort of explanation for how people in Panem ended up with mutant powers. After a little while of trying to come up with a good scientific explanation, I figured, "Why reinvent the wheel?" So, instead, I'm doing a Hunger Games type SYOT story set in the X-Men (movie) universe.

For those of you already familiar with the X-Men movies, this is set after _X2: X-Men United_ , largely because I wanted to bypass and/or obliterate the train wreck that was _The Last Stand_. I'm picking up pretty much where X2 left off, but taking a different (and very non-canon) direction ... and keeping my grubby little hands off the Phoenix Saga. I may end up drawing on other movies and maybe pulling in a few things from the comics or the tv shows, but, really, all you need to be familiar with in order to understand the story is the basic premise. For anyone wanting a crash course, check out the aptly named "crash course" page on my website. (mistakesofthepast . weebly . com.)

Anyways. Technically, yes, this is a crossover. For the moment, it's listed under Hunger Games because I figure most people don't usually check the "X-Men and Hunger Games" crossover page for SYOTs to submit to. Once I have my tributes ... er, "contestants" ... I'll move it to the crossover page where it belongs.

Check out my profile page for guidelines and the tribute form. But please do read the chapter first... ;)

* * *

 **Mistakes of the Past  
** **The First X-Games**

* * *

 **Prologue  
** **A Moment**

* * *

 **President Jonathan McKenna**

"This is a moment."

President McKenna hesitated as the man in the wheelchair continued. "A moment to repeat the mistakes of the past, or to work together for a better future." The man, who had introduced himself as Professor Charles Xavier, smiled a little. "We're here to stay, Mr. President. The next move is yours."

"We'll be watching," added one of the other mutants. Then, in a flash of light, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the group of them vanished.

President McKenna stared blankly for a moment at where they – the mutants – had been. In the White House. In the Oval Office. Despite his best efforts, despite the security measures that had been put in place following the recent assassination attempt, they had simply waltzed in unopposed and…

And done nothing. They hadn't hurt him. Hadn't even threatened him – not really. These ones had been peaceful enough, but what about the others? The one who _had_ attacked him? The ones Professor Xavier claimed had tried to start a war? What happened when they decided it was time to act?

There would be nothing he could do to stop them.

They were watching him. Waiting for him. "Mr. President?" one of the cameramen asked, completely oblivious to everything that had just happened. Had time been frozen? Were these mutants really that powerful?

McKenna shuddered. If they were – if they were really that much of a threat – then it didn't matter how peaceful, how well-intentioned _some_ of them might be. For the good of all mankind, they had to be controlled.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright**

He knew what they had to do.

Nicholas took a deep breath as he settled into one of the chairs outside the Oval Office, with his public relations adviser, Representative Mack Urban, alongside. They had come to present their committee's findings … and their recommendation.

"Do you think he'll approve?" Mack asked drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as he took a seat beside Nicholas. "It's an unusual proposal."

 _Unusual._ It was frightening. Maybe even monstrous. But it had to be done. And if he could convince his own Mutant Affairs Advisory Board to approve the proposal, then he could convince anyone. It had been a close vote, but not as close as he'd expected. Five in favor, two opposed.

Now they just had to convince the president.

Nicholas shook his head. It didn't seem hard to convince Jonathan of anything lately. Nicholas had accepted his position as Secretary of Mutant Affairs mostly as a favor to his old friend, but lately, it seemed, he was really the one calling the shots. The president hadn't glanced twice at a request to disarm a mutant training facility in upstate New York – a request Nicholas had been sure he would have to fight for.

He should have known better. Jonathan was afraid.

It was fear that had driven the president to reintroduce the Mutant Registration Act. It had passed both the House and the Senate with a sweeping majority, obliterating party lines. Republicans had pointed to the terrorist threat that mutants posed, citing the events at Ellis Island as a taste of things to come. Democrats had likened the bill to gun registration; some mutants, after all, had powers more deadly than any man-made weapon.

Since then, security had been tighter, but Jonathan was still afraid. He had been afraid when Vice President Nolan had unexpectedly revealed his status as a mutant. Suddenly, the assassination attempt only a few weeks before began to take on new meaning. A mutant – a mutant he had considered his friend – had been seconds away from becoming the most powerful person in the country. Few people had seen Nolan since, which only fueled the public's questions – questions no one seemed to have the answers to.

The president had been afraid when he had agreed to revitalize the Sentinel Program. He had been afraid when he had agreed to allow the Sentinels to conduct random security sweeps and eliminate threats. And he was still afraid now.

But fear didn't have to be a weakness. Fear could be used as a force for change. Without fear, after all, the human race would have died out long ago. It was fear that had kept them alive through the centuries.

Now maybe one man's fear would save them all.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid**

He had never been so afraid.

Vincent could feel his pulse racing as he, Ian, and Maria checked the last of the storage rooms for any remaining files. Every file had been shredded or burned, every computer completely destroyed. They couldn't take any chances. Not after what had happened the last time the mansion had been raided.

The other teachers were helping the students evacuate, while the more experienced X-Men were outside, buying them time to escape. Part of him wished he was out there with them, but the rest of him knew better. He wouldn't be any help against the Sentinels. Or in any kind of a fight, really.

But he could do this. He, Maria, and Ian had offered to stay behind and help destroy their records. To make sure that no one else would be able to use their resources to locate their fellow mutants.

Finally satisfied that their job was completed, the trio rushed out into the hall, only to find Professor Xavier, on his way back from Cerebro. After what had happened at Alkali Lake, they couldn't take the chance of Cerebro falling into anyone else's hands.

"We have to go – _now_!" The Professor's voice was grave. From the look on his face, the battle outside was not going well. How long did they have before—

No time to think about that now. As quickly as they could, the four of them headed for the tunnels. But, just as they rounded a corner, a Sentinel came into view, its weapon raised.

 _Stay behind me,_ Xavier ordered, but they all knew it was a useless gesture. None of their powers were any use against the Sentinels. Even a mind as strong as Xavier's couldn't seize control of the robots.

The Sentinel reached down to grab the Professor, but Ian threw himself in the way. The Sentinel swatted him away easily, then Maria after him. Vincent stepped forward, only to find himself flying across the room, landing in a heap with Ian and Maria. Still alive…

They weren't the ones the Sentinels wanted.

One swing from the Sentinel's arm knocked Xavier from his wheelchair. "Professor!" Vincent shouted, about to spring to his feet. But, to his surprise, he found he couldn't move. Maria and Ian were similarly frozen. Xavier's last gift to them, Vincent realized. He wasn't going to let any of them die for him.

Just before the Sentinel fired, Vincent felt something else. Heard something else. Two words, whispered in his mind.

Then the Sentinel fired. Once. Twice. Again and again and again…

But the first blast had been enough, Vincent knew, because he could move again. Instinctively, he rushed at the Sentinel, but, instead of batting him away this time, the Sentinel's giant hand closed around him. Another lifted Ian, and a third retrieved Maria. Vincent gasped as the Sentinel's grip tightened. Through blurred vision, he caught a glimpse of the Professor's body, blood still pooling on the floor around him.

Two words. As consciousness slipped from him, Vincent buried those two words deep in his memory. He wouldn't forget. He couldn't. The future of all mutantkind might depend on those two words.

 _Find Erik._

* * *

 **Maria Nanami**

Why were they still alive?

Maria groaned softly as the memories came flooding back. The mansion. The Sentinels. The Professor. Tears came to her eyes, and she didn't even bother wiping them away. It wasn't fair. It made no sense. How could they still be alive, when Professor Xavier was dead? What did the Sentinels want with them?

It wasn't as if any of the three were particularly powerful mutants. She had never been ashamed of her gift, never wanted to hide it as her parents had urged her to, but now it just seemed so … well, so useless. Being able to breathe underwater – What good was that in a fight?

"Are you all right?" Ian asked softly. Even in the pitch black, she knew his voice.

"No." No point in lying. Not now. "No, I'm not _all right_. He's dead, Ian, and we didn't do anything. We _couldn't_ do anything."

"Neither could he. And if one of the strongest mutants on the planet couldn't stop the Sentinels, then you can't beat yourself up for being just as powerless."

It was true, of course. But that didn't make it any better. It only brought back the image of their professor, lying helplessly on the floor as the Sentinel…

His powers had been almost as useless as their own. Almost. But he had claimed one last victory before the end. He had saved their lives – the three of them.

But saved them for what?

"Where are we?" Maria asked, straining her eyes in the dark.

"I don't know, but they didn't bring us far. We're less than two hours from the mansion. They blindfolded me, tried to knock me out, but, well…"

Of course. "How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours, maybe. Vincent's still unconscious. Wasn't sure if I should try to wake him or just let him be."

"Let him be for now," Maria decided. "No reason to wake him – not yet." She shook her head.

"For now, there's nothing we can do."

* * *

 **Ian Viera**

Sometimes he wished he could sleep.

Ian paced the room again, almost stumbling over Vincent as he slept. Sometimes he wondered what it was like. Usually, it just seemed like a waste of time – a waste he was grateful he didn't have to deal with – but, right now, it might actually be preferable. Anything would be better than this endless waiting.

Not endless, he knew. It had been a day. Maybe two. In the dark, it was easy to lose track of time – even for him. Ian drummed his fingers along the wall. How long did they plan to leave the three of them down here? He had to stay alert. As soon as someone brought them food, or water, or simply came to check on them, he could make a move. If nothing else, maybe he could at least find out where they were, what their captors wanted.

Footsteps. Ian froze. This was it. Closer. Closer. He could hear the doorknob turning. Just a few more seconds.

The door opened, and Ian bolted. Past the startled man carrying a try of food. Down the hall, as quickly as he could.

But not quickly enough. Ian could hear a weapon firing. Something struck him in the back. Pain shot through his body as he crumpled to the ground.

The man behind him chuckled. "Is that really the best you could—aah!" His taunt was cut short by Maria, who quickly kneed him in the groin before swiping his taser. Vincent was close behind her, a little groggy but very much alive. Together, the two of them helped Ian to his feet.

Before they could get far, however, an alarm sounded. More men appeared – some with tasers, some with guns, and all backed by a dozen Sentinels. Vincent took a step forward, shielding the other two. "What do you want?"

One of the men stepped forward, leaning heavily on his cane as he walked, eyeing the three of them curiously. He was in his sixties or so, thin, and at least a head shorter than Ian. "I was hoping for a better demonstration than that, to be quite honest." He turned to the men behind him, his tone oddly soft and relaxed. "Are you sure they'll do?"

"I don't understand," one of the others, a more military-looking man, admitted. "The others at the mansion fought so well – for a time."

Ian tensed. _For a time._ Were they dead? All of them? No. No, surely some of them had escaped. The men were only trying to frighten them.

"What do you want with us?" Vincent repeated.

The first man took a few steps forward. "We'll soon have a few … recruits … we'd like you to train."

"Recruits?" Vincent asked skeptically. "For what?"

"That's not important," the man shrugged. "All that matters right now are your qualifications. You three _are_ teachers, yes?"

"Yes."

"At a school for mutants."

"Yes."

There was no point in denying it now. The men obviously knew what the school really was. But, just as clearly, they had made a terrible mistake.

"Excellent," the man concluded. "Then our recruits should be in good hands, as long as—"

"I teach math!" Ian blurted out before he could get any farther, taking a step in front of Vincent.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Math," Ian repeated. "You think just because I'm a mutant, I know how to train other mutants to use their powers? You know what my power is? I don't sleep. How much practice do you think that took?"

"It's true," Maria nodded, stepping up to join him. "I teach literature. I breathe underwater. I don't know what you thought you were looking for, but … it's not us."

The man turned to Vincent. "And you?"

Vincent shook his head. "I teach music. I'm an aeromancer."

"You can create wind?" Maybe that, at least, sounded promising.

"I don't create it. I don't even control it – not really. I can just use it to send messages. Or receive them. Mostly receive them. The other person has to be listening in order for me to send them – and they have to be in a certain range."

The man sighed. "Are you sure we don't have any other options?"

"These are the ones we have, sir," the other man answered. "Either we use them or we simply let the recruits loose without any training, and—"

"We'll train them," Ian interrupted. Maybe they weren't the most experienced teachers, but they were better than nothing. Better than throwing untrained mutants into whatever sort of situation the men had planned.

The man nodded. "Excellent. Come with me, and I'll explain everything."

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright**

They took the news about as well as could be expected.

Nicholas shook his head as one of the guards led the three mutants back to their cell. He couldn't really blame them for being upset by the news. He probably wouldn't be thrilled about it, either, if he was in their place.

But he wasn't in their place. And it _was_ necessary. The Sentinel program had done wonders to combat the mutant problem, but there was a growing dissent, a small but vocal minority of the human population who believed the security measures weren't really necessary. That mutants weren't really a danger.

So the world had to be shown just how dangerous mutants were.

The only thing that bothered him was the fact that they were using children. That hadn't been his idea. He'd fought against it, in fact. Argued that grown mutants would seem more threatening, and would give a better show.

But, in the end, even he had to admit that it made sense. Teenagers were less likely to have full control of their powers. More likely to let their emotions take over.

It _had_ been his idea to give them a little training beforehand, rather than simply dumping them in an arena unprepared and instructing them to kill each other. And, for that, he'd needed instructors. "Coaches" they were calling them, as if this were all some sort of game. And the mutant teenagers who were to be collected soon – they were to be "contestants." Except the only prize they would win would be their own lives.

He'd fought hard for that – allowing the winner to live. Not only in the interest of kindness, but also because it would give them an incentive. It had been suggested that they _tell_ the mutants that one would live, and then make sure the last one died, anyway. And that might have worked, if they had planned for the Games to be a one-time affair.

But that wasn't the plan. And that sort of a trick would only work once. If the contestants didn't believe that one of them was going to live, they would have no reason to fight. No reason to kill.

Because most mutants weren't bloodthirsty enough to kill just for the fun of it. No, most of them were surprisingly … human. Even these three teachers. If he hadn't known they were mutants…

But they were. They all were. Maybe these three weren't dangerous, but some of the others were. Too many to ignore. To simply wait and hope that they wouldn't strike. They had to be prepared. The world had to be prepared. And, in order for that to happen, they had to be informed.

They had to watch these mutants tear each other apart.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid**

"We have to do something."

Vincent nodded silently as the other two let the news sink in. The "recruits" they had been asked to train were contestants. Contestants in a fight to the death. A fight only one of them would survive.

"We can't do this," Maria insisted. "Xavier wouldn't want us to—"

"Xavier would want us to help one of them survive," Ian insisted.

"One of them is going to survive either way – those are the rules."

"And the rest of them are going to die either way. They're doing this with or without us."

"Well, then it can be _without_ us," Maria shot back. "I don't want any part in this."

"None of us do," Ian pointed out. "But what'll they say if we don't? They're trying to make mutants look like monsters. What does it say if three mutant teachers had the opportunity to help these children, but didn't take it?"

"What'll they say if we _do_? That we helped them kill each other?"

"Maybe it doesn't matter what we do," Vincent said softly.

The others turned. "What do you mean?" Maria asked.

Vincent shook his head. "You're both right. Those kids are going to die, no matter what we do. One of them is going to live, whether we help them or not. There are people who are going to think we're right, and people who are going to think we're monsters, no matter which way we choose. I think the important thing is that we all make the same choice. Either we all help, or none of us do. We can't afford to appear divided."

Maria nodded. "Then I vote no."

"And I vote yes." Ian turned to Vincent. "What about you?"

Vincent hesitated. "I vote yes. Not because it'll make a difference in who lives and who dies, but … because it might make a difference to those kids. I remember when I first discovered my powers. I was scared. I was confused. I wasn't sure what was going on. If we can let these children know that they're not alone – even for a little while – then I think that's what Xavier would want."

Maria nodded reluctantly. "I suppose it is."

"So we're agreed, then?"

Ian nodded. "Sounds like."

"Then there's one more thing you need to know." Vincent leaned in closer. There was no way of knowing who might be listening. He had to be careful.

So he closed his eyes, focused, and breathed. In. Out. Focusing his air in their direction. What he'd told Secretary Wright hadn't been entirely true. He couldn't create _wind_ , but he could send messages on his breath. Not far, but he didn't _need_ to send the message far. Just silently. In case anyone was listening.

 _Find Erik._ Silently, he relayed Professor Xavier's last message. _The Professor wanted us to find Erik._

Vincent opened his eyes, waiting as the other two put the pieces together. Erik. There was only one Erik the Professor could have meant. Erik Lehnsherr. Magneto. Professor Xavier wanted them to find Magneto.

It was Ian who asked the logical question. "How?"

"I don't know," Vincent admitted. But there was a better chance of being able to escape if they cooperated. If they helped with this game the secretary had planned. They had to pretend to go along with his plans – at least for a little while.

But they couldn't play along forever. Because Maria was right, too. They couldn't simply sit back and watch while their fellow mutants were forced to kill each other. It wasn't what Xavier would have wanted. It wasn't what they had been trained to do.

But Xavier wouldn't want them to die, either. No one had said it, but whatever Wright had planned for them if they didn't cooperate … it wouldn't be good. And they wouldn't be able to help anyone if they were dead.

They would just have to wait.


	2. While Others Prepared

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** As promised, the story has been moved to the crossover section where it belongs. The contestant list is at the bottom.

*Waits for everyone to scroll down, have a look, and come back up.*

Congratulations to those whose tributes made it in. If your tribute didn't make the list and you have questions about why, feel free to PM me and ask. I don't bite. I promise.

Pictures and a little basic info will be up on the website (mistakesofthepast . weebly . com) once I get a few last faceclaims. Bios will be added as the contestants are introduced in their "collection" chapters. (Right now, I'm planning on seven of them.) If I spelled your contestant's name wrong (there always seems to be one) or you have a different picture you'd like, now is a better time to let me know than halfway through the story. ;)

And ... I think that's it. Off we go.

* * *

 **While Others Prepared**

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright**

 **March 1** **st**

"Why the X-Games?"

Nicholas glanced at his aide, Samuel, as the pair of them headed down the hall to the mutants' cell. "What's that?"

"Why call them the X-Games? Why name them after the founder of the X-Men, someone mutants would admire and—"

Nicholas held up his hand. "Officially, they're not named after Xavier. They're named for the mutant gene. Unofficially, if a few of the X-Men take offense at a murderous game named after their fallen leader, well…"

"You're hoping to draw them out of hiding," Samuel realized. "The ones who escaped from the mansion – or the ones who weren't there. The Sentinels still haven't found them all, have they."

"No, they haven't."

"And you're hoping this will … what? Make them angry enough that they'll stage some sort of attack?"

"Possibly. Or maybe they'll show up on principle. We are forcing their kind to fight to the death, after all. The name may simply be the final straw." He shook his head. "Or maybe not. Maybe they'll know better than to come out of hiding. But even so, we've lost nothing."

"And if they _do_ attack?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Then we'll be ready for them. By our calculations, there are only a handful of them left. We'll have over two dozen sentinels on guard at all times. Any sort of attempt to free the contestants would be suicide."

Probably. They had no way, after all, of knowing exactly how many of the X-Men were left – because they didn't really know how many there had been to begin with. They could make guesses, based on incident reports and the president's own experience with them. But any guess was just that – a guess. And, for all they knew, the remaining X-Men could be recruiting. Growing their numbers.

Or maybe not. Maybe they were simply hiding. Maybe they knew they would live longer, better lives if they simply disappeared than if they tried to interfere now.

Finally, the pair of them reached the mutants' cell. "Open it," Nicholas instructed. Samuel did so, but, this time, there was no attack. The three mutants sat quietly on the floor, waiting. Waiting for him to make his move.

Nicholas nodded and stepped inside the cell. "I need a volunteer."

The female mutant looked up. "Why?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Because I was feeling generous and decided to let you have some say. But if you'd rather I decide—"

"I'll go," the younger male volunteered.

But before he could get to his feet, the other one stood, instead. "I'll go."

"Vincent—"

"It's all right." He shot the other two a look, then stepped forward. Nicholas nodded.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

 **Vincent Reid**

It felt good to feel the wind again.

Vincent smiled a little, taking it in. The breeze was gentle, providing only a slight hum of voices, but it was more than he'd had in his cell. And an opportunity to receive messages was also a chance to send them, which was what he'd been hoping for when he'd volunteered. Vincent closed his eyes, concentrating. _Can anyone hear me?_

It was a long shot. A breeze this soft severely limited his range. In order to receive his message, someone would have to be just the right distance away, in just the right direction. And they would have to be listening. The chances of that were small, but it was something.

"Feels good, doesn't it."

Vincent opened his eyes. Secretary Wright's calm, polite tone was still a bit unnerving, but he seemed oddly sincere. As if he actually regretted that he'd kept them locked in a cell for the last few weeks. He was standing downwind, off to Vincent's right – almost certainly intentionally.

Vincent nodded a little. "It does, yes. It's been a while since…"

"Since you've been able to hear the voices," Wright finished. "Tell me – what can you hear?"

"Not much," Vincent admitted. "Just background noise, mostly."

"Background noise?"

Vincent nodded. "I can tell there are people nearby. Probably your men. But with a breeze this faint, unless thoughts are directed at me, I have to focus in order to actually tell what they're saying. And, even then, if they're not in a certain range…"

"Samuel," Wright called, and the young officer took a few steps so that he was standing directly to Vincent's left. Immediately, a wave of fear struck Vincent, who staggered backwards, unprepared. Usually, he could block out thoughts he didn't want to hear, but he'd been listening carefully, hoping for a reply, when the young man had stepped into range. From the look of concentration etched on his face, he was trying to send a message – perhaps one that Wright had asked him to relay as part of their test – but all that was coming through was the fear.

Finally, Vincent managed to steady himself. "It's all right. You don't need to be afraid. My power won't hurt you. I only—"

"I'm not afraid!" Samuel shot back, but Vincent didn't need the wind to know that was a lie.

Wright took a step forward. "All right. I think that'll suffice. Stand down, Samuel." Samuel stepped aside, out of range, as Wright took his place. "How about now?"

Vincent focused, and, to his surprise, the message that he received wasn't one of fear. Instead, a single word came through, loud and clear. _Rose._ "How was that?" Wright asked.

Vincent smiled a little. "Who's Rose?"

Wright nodded. "Can't you tell me?"

"I can tell she … you love her very much. Your wife?"

"My daughter."

"What you're doing – you're doing it for her. To keep her safe."

"Yes."

Vincent took a step forward. "Not all of us are dangerous."

"Maybe not," Wright conceded. "But enough of you are. And the world needs to see that." He nodded to Samuel, who reached inside a small briefcase, removed some sort of object, and handed it to Wright. Wright held it out to Vincent. "Put this on."

Vincent hesitated as he turned the object over in his hands. It was a collar of some sort – thin and metal, with some sort of yellow, glowing gem on the front. "V-0000" was engraved beside it. Vincent pressed a button, and the back of the collar slid open. "What is it?"

"A prototype. Don't worry; if all goes as planned, it shouldn't be painful." Vincent hesitated, and Wright shook his head. "Put it on, or we'll put it on for you."

Vincent carefully slid the collar around his neck. Wright pressed a button on some sort of remote, and the collar snapped shut. "What do you hear now?"

Vincent shook his head. "The same as before. I don't know what—"

"And now?" Wright pressed a second button. Immediately, everything went quiet. Absolutely quiet. Vincent took a step back. He'd never heard silence like this before – not since he was a teenager, before his powers. Xavier had taught him how to shut out the voices when he wanted to, but, even so, there was always a quiet, steady hum in the background, like the white noise from a fan or a heater. Even in his cell, Ian and Maria's breathing had been enough to provide him with _something_. But now…

"What do you hear?"

Vincent shook his head. "Nothing."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

He wished he was. But the air was silent. Vincent swallowed hard. "No. There's nothing. Please, can you—" Without thinking, he reached back, his fingers finding the button on the collar that had opened it before.

But as soon as he pressed it, pain shot through his body, bringing Vincent to his knees. Wright was at his side in an instant. "I was hoping you would know better than to try that. Did you really think we would be that stupid? Once the collar's been activated, I'm the only one who can remove it. Tampering with it results in a shock – the level of which can be adjusted. I can, however, turn the blocking mechanism off if I wish." He pressed the button on his remote, and the voices came rushing back. Vincent gasped, relieved, taking in the sounds. Immediately, he reached out with all his strength. _Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?_

Wright nodded. "I'd call that a successful test. Like I said, that's a prototype. We have enough at the moment for you and your two friends. Once we have enough for our contestants, we can retrieve them, and the Games will begin."

Vincent clenched his teeth as Wright offered him a hand and helped him up. Still a bit dizzy from the pain, Vincent followed Wright inside, concentrating, trying desperately to send one last message to anyone who might be listening. _Can anyone hear me? Hurry. Please hurry._

 _We don't have much time._

* * *

 **Secretary Nicholas Wright**

 **March 8** **th**

They didn't have much time.

Nonetheless, Nicholas waited for the other members of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board to take their seats before beginning. Haste was no reason for impoliteness. But they _did_ have need of haste. There was only a week left before the date they had set to collect their contestants – March 15th – and there was still so much to take care of. So much to do.

Nicholas turned first to Francine Temple, the board's technology expert. "Your collars seem to be working quite well, Ms. Temple. The three mutants we have are well under our control."

Francine shook her head. "I'd still prefer to run a few more tests. Their abilities are … well, rather straightforward and, quite frankly, not that dangerous. If their collars malfunction, they can't take control of our minds or level the block. I'd prefer to test the technology on some more … formidable powers before we're forced to rely on it."

Nicholas nodded. "Noted. Colonel?" He turned to Colonel Judah Burgess, who was in charge of the Sentinel Program. "Would you be able to procure a suitable test subject?"

"Absolutely," Judah agreed. "We've made considerable progress with the Sentinel technology in the last few months, thanks largely to Ms. Temple's help. We've been able to increase their range by nearly fifty percent."

"How are you coming on reducing … unwanted casualties?"

Judah couldn't hide a small scoff. Maybe the idea of collateral damage came with the territory, but it wasn't something Nicholas was comfortable with yet. "We're making progress," Judah answered vaguely. "But if mutants insist on fighting, and we're unable to capture them—"

"Apprehend," Mack corrected.

"What's that?" Judah asked impatiently.

"Unable to _apprehend_ them," Mack repeated. "You _capture_ enemy soldiers. You _apprehend_ criminals or citizens who are a threat to society – or to themselves. There's a difference."

"Only to you," Judah shrugged.

Nicholas couldn't hide a smile. The young congressman – and the board's public relations adviser – could be irritating at times, but if anyone could sell the idea of forcing mutants to fight to the death without causing public outrage, it would be him. "Mack's right," Nicholas agreed. "Image is everything. Which is why it won't just be the Sentinels collecting our contestants. It will be us – all of us."

Nicholas reached into the binder he had brought and removed seven folders – one for each member of the board. He handed them out, and the members began scanning through them. Each one contained the names, addresses, and basic information on four or five identified mutants. "These are your responsibility. On March 15th, we'll each be collecting four or five of our contestants. You'll have Sentinels to accompany you, and to utilize at your discretion. But _do_ try not to harm our contestants," he added with a pointed glance at Judah.

Judah cocked an eyebrow. "A twelve-year-old? Really?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Read the file."

Judah read on, his eyebrow raised. "Project Uppercut? I thought that was abandoned when—"

"It was – officially," he answered before Judah could say anything stupid. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to clean up another one of Stryker's messes."

Judah nodded, turning back to his files, leaving the rest unsaid. Maybe he was a bit ruthless, but he was effective, which was why Nicholas had given him the most difficult cases. He wouldn't hesitate to use a little extra force if necessary. On the other hand, he had given the easier cases – or, at least, the mutants he assumed would be a bit easier to apprehend – to the members of the board who had more reservations about the proposed Games, particularly the two who had voted against them.

But they still looked uncomfortable. Nicholas, however, cut them off before they could say a word. "I know some of you still have doubts about the Games. I know some of you voted against them. But we have to appear unified now. If the mutants believe some of us are opposed to the Games, they'll use that to drive a wedge between us, and we can't have that. So it has to be all of us, out there in the public eye, doing the job we were appointed to do. Clear?"

"Clear," most of them answered.

That was good enough for now. Judah turned to Dr. Hans Brenner, their geneticist. "Have you and Ms. Temple learned anything about the effect her collar technology has on the mutants' genetic structure? Are there any cases where it might be ineffective?"

Hans shook his head. "As she said, we need more data. More test subjects. After we collect all of our contestants, I suspect we'll have a better idea. Given the variety of their abilities, if there's a case where it wouldn't work, we should find out."

"Fair enough," Nicholas nodded. "Dr. Stowe? How are you coming on the arena?"

"Nearly finished," Dr. Lillian Stowe confirmed. "It should be ready in a few days – well before the deadline."

Exactly what he'd wanted to hear. "Dr. Mendelson? Have you had a chance to inspect it?"

"Yes," Alvin answered, his attention still on the files in front of him.

"And?"

Alvin glanced up. "It'll serve its purpose. There are enough cameras to keep track of the contestants. There are enough natural resources to keep them alive for a time."

"And containment?"

Alvin shrugged. "Depends on the contestants. But as long as you didn't select a teleporter—"

"We didn't."

"Or someone who can tunnel through the ground. Or someone who could fly out before we had a chance to activate their collar. Or someone who could summon a tornado to lift them out. Or—"

"Point taken," Nicholas conceded. "What about the contestants we have?"

Alvin shook his head. "As I said, it'll serve its purpose. Anyone we can catch, we can more than likely contain." He glanced at the files in front of him, then at his fellow board members.

"Only one of them will leave that arena alive."

* * *

 **Maria Nanami**

 **March 10** **th**

Only one of them would leave the arena alive.

Maria couldn't tear her eyes from the files on the table. Each file contained a name, a picture, and what information the government had about each of the contestants. Some of the pictures were blurry. Some of the information was spotty and vague. But each of them represented a mutant – a _person_ – who would soon be fighting for their lives in an arena.

And it was up to them – her, Ian, and Vincent – to help prepare them. Prepare them to fight each other. To kill each other. Teach them to use their powers effectively not to protect, as the X-Men had been taught, but to destroy.

The thought made her sick. But finally, seeing their faces, she knew that the three of them had made the right choice. Taking part in these Games – in any capacity – was monstrous. But letting these children be tossed into an arena without any preparation, any training, any idea of what they were doing – that would have been worse.

How much worse, she wasn't entirely sure.

Maria finally looked up at Ian and Vincent, but they were both silent. Nicholas had given them the files along with an instruction: the three of them were supposed to separate the contestants into groups that they would be trained with, each with one of them as a coach. But none of them seemed to know quite where to begin.

Finally, Ian took a deep breath. "Okay. Maria. Water – that's your thing. I've got two aquakinetics here – maybe they should be yours."

Hers. Her students. Her contestants who might be dead in a matter of weeks. Maria took a deep breath as Ian handed her the files. Fifteen years old. Sixteen years old. She had been fifteen herself when she'd applied to Xavier's school, believing it was a boarding school. She'd wanted to get away from her parents, and a boarding school had seemed like a better option than living on the streets.

From the look of the files, though, a few of the mutants had chosen a different option. Several of the files had no clear address, little information, and the photos they did have were fuzzy at best. Ian scooped up two of them and handed them to Vincent. "What do you think?"

Vincent studied what little information was in the files. "Illusion projection, reality warping … I don't know if I can help them, Ian. With only a few days? They need a real instructor, someone who can help them understand their power. They need someone like…" He trailed off.

"They need someone like Xavier," Ian nodded. "But he's gone, Vincent, and we have to do the best we can without him. Maybe you don't understand their powers, but you understand _them._ You _were_ them. How long were you living on the streets before Xavier found you?"

Vincent nodded slowly. He didn't need to answer. It had been years. Years of fending for himself after he had run away from home. He'd had the guts to do what Maria hadn't – strike out without a plan after refusing to take the medication the doctors had prescribed for what they believed to be schizophrenia. Maybe he had been brave; maybe he had been desperate.

Maybe they were the same thing.

Maria laid a hand gently on Vincent's shoulder. "Ian's right. They need someone who understands where they've been, what it's like out there – and that's not either of us. You can do this."

Vincent smiled faintly, then placed the two files in front of him, starting a pile. "All right, then. Ian, what about you?"

Ian was scanning through a file. "Oneirokinesis. Does that mean—"

"Dreams," Maria confirmed, peering over Ian's shoulder. "She can control dreams. Perfect for you," she added with a smirk.

Ian snorted a little. Over the past few days, Nicholas had performed a few tests with their collars. The only effect they had on Ian, of course, was that when his was activated, he needed to sleep like everyone else. But his first experience with dreaming had been a rather startling experience, and he had woken up screaming.

"Very funny," Ian smirked, adding her file to the pile in front of him.

It wasn't funny. None of it was. The fact that all but one of the contestants – the children – in the files would be dead soon wasn't funny. The fact that the three of them were going to be helping them train to kill each other wasn't funny. The fact that the public was apparently perfectly okay with this whole thing wasn't funny.

None of it was funny. None of it was okay. And as they distributed the files between them, Maria couldn't shake the feeling that they were deciding the young mutants' fate, their success or failure in the Games.

It was a silly feeling, of course. Whatever their choices now, the three of them would be working together. They would help each other. None of them would have to handle this alone. But that didn't lift any of the weight, the feeling of dread that seemed to have settled over the group. None of them wanted this. None of them had ever wanted this.

But it had to be done.

* * *

 **Miles Nolan  
** **Former Vice President**

 **March 13** **th**

He had never wanted this.

Miles leaned back against a tree as he looked out over the swamp. The simple life – something he had never craved. Some of his fellow politicians, he knew, yearned for the silence and solitude of their homes, but he had never understood that. Why get into politics if you didn't enjoy … well, politics?

And he had enjoyed it. He had been at home among the hustle and bustle. He had become an expert at navigating all kinds of situations. He could talk people into practically anything. And he could talk his way _out_ of everything else.

Except his mutation.

He hadn't even realized, at first, that it _was_ a mutation, or even anything out of the ordinary. He'd always been good at mimicking other people's voices, but he had never thought anything of it – no more than an athlete might consider their strength or agility a mutation. The fact that he'd never had to practice in order to perfect his talent was beside the point. He'd never thought of himself as anything but ordinary.

Gradually, he'd figured out that it was more than that. His imitations weren't just close; they were perfect. Eerily perfect. Perfect enough to fool voice-recognition software. Perfect enough to imitate _anyone_ – even after hearing them only once. In the wrong hands, his power could be a security threat.

But his weren't the wrong hands. He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't a threat. But it hadn't taken him long to figure out that not everyone would see it that way – and that, if he was exposed, he certainly wouldn't be allowed to keep his position as Vice President.

So he had fought the Mutant Registration Act when it had first been introduced. He had argued for restraint, for tolerance – all the while, trying to hide the reason _why._

But, finally, he hadn't been able to hide any more. After the assassination attempt against President McKenna, there had been an … incident. No one seemed to want to talk about it, but they all knew. They all knew it was what had prompted the call for mutant registration. It had come in two waves – the first targeting mutants, the second targeting normal humans. One group, and then the other, had simply collapsed, writhing in excruciating pain.

He had been part of the first group.

It was only a matter of time, he knew, before they would have put it together on their own. Only a matter of time before the newly reintroduced Sentinels would have detected his own mutation. So when the Mutant Registration Act was passed, he had been the first to register. To set an example.

It wasn't enough. Riots had ensued. Conspiracy theorists insisted that he had been the one behind the assassination attempt, that a mutant had been seconds away from seizing control of the government. The country was outraged.

So he had run. He had resigned. Maybe that had been the right choice. Maybe not. Most likely, it didn't matter one bit. It was an election year, after all, and there was no chance that the country would have accepted Miles as McKenna's running mate again – not now that his secret was out. As it was, Jonathan was still in a close race for their party's nomination. By this time next year…

Miles shook his head. That wasn't his problem. Not anymore. He was done with politics – for good. He couldn't go back. Not now that they knew who he was. What he was. What he had hidden from them for years.

But what choice had he had?

Miles sighed and headed inside. Shortly after his resignation, his wife had left him, taking both of their children. He hadn't told her what he'd learned – that the mutant gene was passed on from the father's side. That her children – _their_ children – might very well be mutants.

Miles collapsed into a seat on the couch. He could only hope that, if they were, their powers were relatively benign, as his were. The government wasn't sending Sentinels after mutants who could mimic their teachers or copy their siblings' voices. They were after the dangerous ones – the ones who could level city blocks, the ones who could summon tornadoes to destroy whole towns, the ones who could kill with a thought.

He wasn't one of those. He wasn't dangerous. But, as much as he wanted to be, he wasn't normal, either. And he never would be.

Suddenly, a _whoosh_ of air swept through the house. Miles glanced around, startled, but there was no one there. No _one_ , but there was something. A terrible smell, and something on the table. A letter.

Hesitantly, Miles got to his feet and made his way to the table. Had the press finally found him? He was registered with the government, of course – they knew his address – but, as a last favor, Jonathan had agreed to keep his location a secret from the reporters, the journalists, and anyone else who might seek him out.

Apparently, he'd failed.

Miles opened the letter cautiously, not quite sure what to expect. Hate mail, perhaps. He avoided the internet for precisely that reason. But, instead of angry complaining, the letter contained only four words:

 _You are not alone._

* * *

 **Ian Viera**

 **March 14** **th**

At least they weren't alone.

Ian gripped Maria and Vincent's hands tightly as the door opened. It wasn't mealtime, so it probably wasn't good news. He'd gotten a bit better at keeping track of time in their cell. Breakfast had come about an hour ago, so it was morning. Morning the day before the Sentinels were supposed to retrieve the contestants. Their students.

Nicholas entered the cell, followed by a tough, military-looking man whose name, Ian had learned, was Colonel Burgess. He hadn't heard anyone use a first name, but he doubted the colonel went by it very often, anyway. He seemed to be in a perpetually bad mood, which Ian didn't quite understand. After all, _he_ wasn't the one who was expected to train students for a fight to the death.

"Get up." Nicholas' voice was as calm, as level, as always. Ian sometimes wished he would shout. Or at least show some sign of anger or fear. It would be easier to hate him. Easier to blame him.

"Why?" Ian asked, but he was almost on his feet already. There wasn't really much point in arguing.

"Because we're leaving," Nicholas answered simply. "Put these on." He handed each of them a black hood, made of some sort of opaque but breathable fabric. Ian crossed his arms defiantly. Nicholas only shrugged. "Either you put them on now, or we put them on – and Colonel Burgess isn't known for his gentleness."

Ian glanced at Vincent, who nodded and slipped the hood over his head. Maria followed suit, leaving Ian glaring at Nicholas. "Fine." He slipped the hood over his head. "Happy now?"

Clearly not. More footsteps – soldiers, judging by the sound of their boots – entered the cell. Handcuffs were quickly fastened around his wrists. Chains snapped around his ankles. "You know," Ian commented, his voice muffled by the hood, "wherever we're going, I bet we'd get there faster if we weren't all tied up."

"Quiet!" a gruff voice – maybe Colonel Burgess – demanded, and something struck Ian in the side. He tried to keep his balance, but the chains around his legs were too short, and he toppled to the ground. Something – no, some _one_ – kicked him, forcing the air from his lungs.

"Damn it, Judah. He wasn't going to hurt you." Ian raised an eyebrow. It was the first time he'd heard Nicholas raise his voice. "Just get them to the plane."

"Yes, Sir." The colonel didn't sound too happy, but a pair of strong hands quickly pulled Ian to his feet and dragged him down the hall. Ian stumbled along. Where were Vincent and Maria? In front of him? Behind him?

Soon, they were outside. Ian kept moving, but he could tell from the rattling of chains that someone had fallen behind. "Come _on_!" insisted the colonel's voice. The demand was followed by a series of _thumps_ that were probably kicks, and a cry of pain. Vincent. What was he doing?

Ian clenched his teeth. He knew what Vincent was doing. He was trying to send a message. The wind was stronger today – maybe strong enough to carry farther. But even if he managed to contact someone, what could he tell them? He couldn't even tell them where they were, because they were leaving.

And no one had said where they were going.

Right now, however, it seemed their destination was a plane. Ian was guided up a set of stairs and down what he could only guess was an aisle. A pair of hands shoved him roughly into a seat. With a soft _click_ , the cuffs around his wrists were fastened in place across his lap, his feet chained beneath his seat. They weren't taking any chances.

Right. They weren't taking any chances with a math teacher who couldn't sleep, a woman who could breathe underwater, and a guy who talked to the wind. This wasn't about protection; it was about control.

He wished he could say it didn't work.

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson**

He wished they'd chosen somewhere warmer.

Alvin shivered as he stepped out of the helicopter and into the snow. He could understand this sort of weather in January or even February. But _March_? If they were going to insist on holding the Games in _March_ , they could at least have picked a warmer destination. Why had they picked Alaska?

There was _nothing_ in Alaska.

Which was the point, of course. They'd wanted a location they could isolate, a location no one would suspect or accidentally stumble into. And in that, they'd certainly succeeded. But they could have achieved the same thing on an uninhabited tropical island and been much more comfortable.

Alvin rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd thought to bring gloves, as the plane landed next to the helicopter. It was a small plane – big enough for the pilot and copilot, the three coaches, and a handful of military personnel, including Colonel Burgess, who emerged first. "Everything ready, Mendelson?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Alvin called back. "As long as you completely discount the three or four minor glitches we'll probably encounter today, not to mention the dozens of things that could go wrong once the contestants start to arrive. Other than those, we're perfectly ready."

Judah scowled. Alvin shrugged. "Ask a stupid question…"

"I asked if you were ready."

"No, you asked if _everything_ was ready. But it's impossible to have everything ready. We can't prepare for every possible situation. Most of the difficulties, however, are likely to be minor. We'll adapt. We'll adjust. We'll find a way. That's life."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "So you're ready for them – the coaches?"

"Certainly. I—"

Before he could get any farther, Judah cut him off, calling back towards the plane. "All right! Bring them out!"

There was a rattling of chains as the three of them emerged – handcuffed, shackled, hooded, and surrounded by soldiers. Alvin turned to Judah. "Really? Was that necessary?"

"Nicholas didn't want them to know where we were—"

Alvin chuckled. "We're in Alaska!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Northern, arctic-cold Alaska! Is that what you didn't want them to know?"

Judah glared, but Alvin was already making his way towards the plane. "Let them go."

The soldier turned to Judah. "Sir?"

Judah shrugged. "Do as he says. They're his problem now."

As the soldier unchained the three of them, Alvin quickly removed their hoods. "My apologies to all of you. What Judah here lacks in manners, he makes up for in efficiency. Not everyone can have the best of both worlds, unfortunately." He held out his hand to the coach on the right – a taller, dark-skinned fellow with deep brown eyes. "Dr. Alvin Mendelson, but you can call me Alvin."

"Vincent." After a moment's hesitation, he shook Alvin's hand. "So you're here to make sure that things run smoothly?"

Alvin shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just here to make sure they _run_. Smoothly is out of the question. Has been from the start. How do you _smoothly_ convince thirty teenagers and twenty-somethings to kill each other? How do you _smoothly_ convince the country that it's a good idea? No, no, no. It can be done, of course – but not smoothly, and not without risks."

"Risks?" the woman next to Vincent repeated. "What sort of risks?"

Alvin shrugged. "All sorts of risks – some trivial, some … not so much. But we've taken the best precautions we can."

"I take it you have the place surrounded."

Alvin smiled a little. "What's your name?"

"Maria."

"Well, Maria, I think it's pretty obvious that we can't surround an area this large – not completely, anyway. But it should be just as obvious that we don't have to. What do you see around you?"

"Nothing."

"Exactly," the third coach nodded. "They don't have to guard us. There's probably nothing around here for … what? Fifty miles? A hundred?"

"Eighty-seven," Alvin confirmed. "And you'd have to know the exact direction you needed to go. No food, no water, no powers that'll help you get there any faster." He shrugged. "Why do you think I told Judah here we don't need to chain you up? There's nowhere to run. So why don't we skip the part where you formulate an escape plan, and let's focus on getting you what you need."

"What we need?" Maria repeated.

Alvin smiled a little. "You _are_ here to train our contestants, right? So what do you need?"

The three of them glanced at each other. "Enough room to practice," Ian suggested.

"Already done."

"Some targets?" Maria ventured. "Access to water. Whatever animals you have on hand."

"You'll have them."

Vincent glanced around. "Warmer clothes? For both the contestants and _us_."

Alvin chuckled. "Done and done. Let's get out of this wind. Unless you'd prefer to keep reading my thoughts." When Vincent cocked an eyebrow, Alvin smiled. "You didn't really think Nicholas wouldn't tell the rest of the board about your abilities, did you? But you won't get any government secrets out of me; I just make things work."

"You're their handyman."

"Something like that. Mathematical Handyman. I like that. I should get that on a jumpsuit. I should _get_ a jumpsuit." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. Let's get inside." He smiled a little.

"We have a lot of work to do."

* * *

" _When I was a child, my people talked while others prepared for war. They used reason when others used tanks."_

* * *

 **Contestant List:**

Penelope - 098, 12  
Austin Vonley, 13  
Jayden Parker, 13  
Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13  
Cameron Mercer, 14  
Rosalind Hennrikus, 14  
Isadore Douglas, 15  
Rory Cunningham, 15  
Cassidy Cruze, 16  
Cyrene Lykovski, 16  
Simon Herrick, 16  
Terry Daudric, 16  
Diana Pierri, 17  
Hadley Cadolyn, 17  
Piper Galligan, 17  
Ryden O' Lore, 17  
Akil Turell, 18  
Ky Snowdon, 18  
Taylor Adams, 18  
Bennett Lyons, 19  
Clara Seville, 19  
Juliska Szekeres, 19  
Parker Reyes, 19  
Rachel Adams, 19  
John Knox, 21  
Victoria Ramirez, 21  
Natasha Kuryakin, 22  
Reese Delaney, 22  
Tariq Qasim, 22  
Monet Amit, 23


	3. The Only Thing

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** I wasn't originally planning on starting the collection chapters until I got back from our family trip, but in my rush to finish Camp NaNoWriMo, I actually got this written, too, so here's the first of seven collections.

I've also discovered a deep loathing for time zone conversions, but I'm relatively sure that the numbers work out. Trying my best to keep it realistic here. Right. I'm trying to keep a superpowered Hunger Games realistic. Anyway.

* * *

 **The Only Thing**

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **Secretary of Mutant Affairs**

 **March 15** **th** **, 06:32 EST**

He still wasn't quite comfortable around the Sentinels.

Nicholas shook his head. He didn't like being followed around by the robots. And he certainly didn't like sending them to collect one of the contestants on their own. But it simply hadn't been practical for any of them to make a side trip to Hawaii to collect _one_ contestant. He would simply have to hope that the Sentinels did their job properly.

But if they didn't … well, it was on his shoulders. The girl was his responsibility. He'd distributed the contestants, after all, and made sure that he would be the one to take the blame if something went wrong there. He'd also taken some of the more difficult contestants for himself.

Of course, they could only take their best guess about which of the contestants would be the most difficult to capt—no, to _apprehend_ , he corrected himself. Mack was right. It was easier to think about apprehending possibly dangerous contestants than to focus on what would happen to them afterwards.

It had to be done, of course. After some reservations, he had been the one to call for a vote on the Games, and had been one of the first to decide in their favor. What they were about to do was brutal. Maybe even inhuman. But it _was_ necessary in order for humanity to survive.

Nicholas glanced up at the Sentinels above him as he made his way down the street. It was barely dawn on a Saturday morning; most people were still in their homes. But, according to his records, the first mutant on his list didn't _have_ much of a home. This small town on the outskirts of Indianapolis didn't even seem to be his permanent residence – just the most recent place anyone had seen him.

But that wasn't any hindrance to the Sentinels. "Mutant detected," one of them droned, indicating an alleyway with a sweep of its arm.

Nicholas nodded his confirmation, holding up a hand as he approached. "Stay here." He might have to use the Sentinels as backup, but if he sent them in initially, they would probably cause more harm – and panic – than necessary. If the mutant could be apprehended without a fuss, that would be better – for everyone.

But was that even a possibility?

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17  
** **Pendleton, IN**

 **06:36 EST**

He wasn't initially sure whether the voice was real or not.

Hadley glanced around, startled, as he staggered to his feet and the voice repeated his name. "Hadley Cadolyn?" Who was here? Who knew his name? Even Lucy didn't know his full name – or, at least, he was pretty sure she didn't. As certain as he was about anything anymore.

Which wasn't very certain. He couldn't always tell, anymore, what was real and what wasn't. Was there a voice? Was he imagining it? Was he _causing_ it?

He could see a man – an older man, leaning on a cane – as he turned around, but that didn't mean much, either. Sometimes he could see things that weren't there. Sometimes, it seemed, he could cause them to appear, because other people responded to them, too. But not always. Not enough to be certain.

Hadley took a step back as he saw the robot behind the man. Okay. _This_ was real. He'd never seen one in person, but he'd heard of them. Sentinels. Immediately, he took off running. Down the street. Up the wall of the dead end. "Leave me alone!"

Most of the time, people did. They left him alone without even asking. And maybe he was better off that way. Maybe the _world_ was better off that way. Not that he cared. What had the world ever done for him? Why should he do the world any favors by caring about what made it better?

He was on the roof now. How had he gotten there? That wasn't good. That meant that he was exposed. One of the robots was almost on top of him. Hadley fell to his knees, his eyes squeezed shut as a splitting headache spread through his mind. He could feel the roof shifting. Maybe if the roof caved in, the Sentinels wouldn't be able to find him.

Suddenly, something slipped around his neck. There was a light _click_ , and everything stopped shaking. Hadley opened his eyes to see the roof solidifying. The old man from the alleyway was standing beside him, holding something that looked like a remote control.

Hadley stared. Everything was clear. Clearer than it had been since two years ago, when his mind had begun doing … whatever the hell it was that it did. Hadley staggered to his feet. "What did you do?" How had he stopped it?

The man actually smiled a little. "I could ask you the same thing. You just ran up a wall onto a roof and almost turned it into jelly. That's pretty impressive, son."

Hadley took a step backwards. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you. I have friends who can help you learn to control your abilities. Come with me."

 _Come with me._ The man's voice was strangely inviting. Hadley took another step back – almost to the edge of the roof. It was too good to be true. People had offered to 'help' him before. 'Help' almost always meant drugs. One or two had tried to take him to a mental institute. Maybe that was where he belonged.

But it wasn't where he wanted to be.

Without thinking, Hadley jumped off the roof. There was a garbage bin below, but he didn't make it that far. One of the Sentinels had been standing in the alleyway below, and now its huge hand closed around Hadley, catching him firmly and not at all gently.

Hadley squirmed. "Let me _go_!" He kicked at the robot, but it was useless. The robot held him fast as it flew back to the roof, landing next to the old man, who was reaching into a briefcase.

Hadley thrashed harder as the man removed a syringe from the case. "Don't! You can't! I'll—"

But that was as far as he got. The needle plunged into his shoulder, and there was nothing he could do about it. "I'm sorry," was the last thing he heard as the world began to grow blurry.

But he already knew that was a lie.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21  
** **Aurora, IL**

 **07:12 CST**

How long had they been pounding on the door?

Victoria rubbed her eyes as she sat up, startled. She glanced at the clock again, just to make sure she had read it right. Who would be coming to see her at seven in the morning? What was so important that it couldn't wait until a reasonable—

A glance out the window answered her question. Sentinels. She'd seen them on the news, but never in person. What were they doing here?

There was only one answer to that, of course. Someone had discovered her power. Ratted her out. And now they had come to … what? Capture her? Experiment on her?

Kill her?

She'd heard rumors, of course. Rumors that the Sentinels had been attacking mutants – even killing them. And she had no desire to put those rumors to the test. She had to get away.

Okay. They were at the front door. There was a Sentinel on the lawn to her left. But to the right? There were no windows facing that direction in her bedroom, so she could only guess. The back door led that way. It might be clear.

There was no guarantee, but it was her only chance.

Down the stairs. Out the back door. Victoria took off as fast as she could, but she barely made it to the neighbor's yard. A giant hand closed around her. "Help!" she called as loudly as she could. "Help!"

A few people on the street turned to watch. But none made a move to help. She had thought that by moving to a suburb of Chicago, by surrounding herself with people, that she would be able to blend in. There were so many people.

But none of them seemed to care.

In fact, the only one who didn't turn and look away was a man – an older man with a cane who approached the Sentinel. "Bring her here," he instructed, and the Sentinel lowered her.

"Please … please help." If she could only touch him. In order to give his mind a push, she had to touch him. She had to make eye contact. That was the only downside of her power – she needed physical contact.

But the only physical contact came when his hand brushed against her neck as he slipped a metal collar into place. "Please let me go."

To her surprise, the man shrugged. "Let her go," he instructed the Sentinel.

For a moment, she dared to hope that maybe her power had worked. Maybe she had somehow managed it with only that brief touch, without even making eye contact. "Now take this collar off." Maybe she was pressing her luck, but if she was really in control…

"No."

She took a few steps forward and grabbed his arm. He gazed back into her eyes, smiling a little as she gave the command again. "Take the collar off."

"No."

The word hit her like a wave. No one had ever told her _no_ before. Well, no one except her brother, Diego. She'd never been able to push him. But everyone else … they always did what she said. _Always._

Even when she didn't mean it.

Was that it? Was that why they had come? Had someone finally figured out what had happened to her sister? She had never meant for that to happen. And she had been careful ever since then. She had left home. She had never intentionally used her powers to _hurt_ anyone. Only to get what she wanted.

And right now, she only wanted them to let her go.

But the old man only repeated the answer. "No. I'm sorry, Victoria, but you're coming with us." He reached into a briefcase and removed a syringe. Victoria turned to run, but the man pressed a button on some sort of remote. Pain coursed through her body, and she crumpled to the ground. Something sharp entered her shoulder, and everything went black. Victoria fought back tears as consciousness left her.

Why hadn't he listened?

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18  
** **Saginaw, MI**

 **09:55 EST**

He didn't even notice the Sentinels at first.

Akil glanced up, startled, as the illusion faded and he found a robot standing over him. He normally didn't use his power much at all – let alone use it to project into his _own_ mind – but the day had been so miserable so far. He'd barely escaped from the police after "stealing" a perfectly good slab of meat someone had been about to feed to their dog. He had managed to project the image of another dog rushing in to swipe it, when, in reality, he had stolen the meat himself.

Unfortunately, he couldn't project into more than one mind at a time. He had successfully fooled the woman, but not a man who had happened to glance in their direction. The man had shouted for the cops, who had chased him for nearly five blocks before giving up and deciding it just wasn't worth their trouble.

Then it had started to rain.

So he had settled down in an alleyway with his breakfast, soaking wet and out of breath. And he had projected an image into his own mind. An image of warm, dry sand on the beach. The rain became the sound of the waves lapping against the shore of Lake Huron. The raw meat became a hot, juicy hamburger, and the rainwater became a cold soda. Nothing fancy. Just normal.

The normal life he had never had.

But now the spell was broken, and the robot reached for him. Akil clambered to his feet, reaching out to the Sentinel's mind. But there was nothing to reach. No one to project to. Except a man. A man standing by the Sentinels.

But what to project? What would save him? He had only an instant to decide, and, in that instant, a lion appeared, racing towards the man with the Sentinels. The man stepped back, startled, but didn't move, and the Sentinels were unaffected. Akil turned and ran as quickly as he could, darting into a second alleyway, but the Sentinels were faster. After only seconds, a cold robotic hand closed around him.

"Let me go!" he called. "Tell them to let me go, or the lion will eat you!" But the lion had already run off. _Damn_. He had thought he was getting better at controlling exactly how his illusions behaved, but, in his panic, it had gotten away from him.

"That was actually quite impressive," the old man said softly. "I knew there couldn't possibly be a lion in the alleyway, of course, but I saw it, nonetheless. And I almost believed it was going to eat me. In fact, if I hadn't known about your … abilities beforehand, Akil, I probably would have fallen for it."

Not probably. Definitely. But he'd never tried to use his power on someone who was _aware_ that he was using it. He wasn't stupid enough to go around telling people about his power. His family had known, of course, but he hadn't seen his family in … what? Seven years? Had it really been that long?

"What do you want with me?" Akil demanded, shaking. He hadn't hurt anyone – not really. Certainly not intentionally. He was just trying to survive – nothing more.

"I want to put this on you," the man said gently, holding out a collar. Akil could make out some letters and numbers on it: _V-0106_. What did that mean? He squirmed and thrashed as much as he could as the man made his way towards him, holding out the collar as if approaching a wild dog he meant to tame.

Maybe that was what he was. A wild dog. Maybe he had spent so much time on the streets that they thought of him as an animal. Just another creature to catch and … what? Experiment on? Imprison?

Kill?

But there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing he could do as the man slipped the collar around his neck, and it clicked shut. It was all he could do to lurch forward and snap at the man's hand – almost like a dog – as he pulled it away. Akil could taste blood in his mouth, and the man drew his hand back, startled. "You didn't need to do that."

 _Of course I did._ The man had no right to complain – not when he almost certainly had far worse in store for Akil. Akil glared as the man produced a syringe and plunged the needle into his shoulder.

He only wished he'd bit him harder.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16  
** **Kahuku, HI**

 **15:24 HAST**

"Totally rad, sis!"

Cassidy shook the water from her hair as she strode over to where her brother, Castor, was standing, along with Nico and Teresa. Her last run had been her best, but the competition today was tougher than ever. It had been tempting – so tempting – to use her power to alter the waves _just_ a little bit. Just enough to give herself an edge.

But she hadn't. She never did. Partly because it wouldn't be fair, and partly because she was afraid of what might happen if anyone noticed, if any of her competition – or even her friends – began to suspect that she was a mutant.

Her brother knew, of course – and their parents, as well. After she had come ashore with fins, gills, and scales after one surfing practice, it hadn't taken her instructor long to put the pieces together. Her parents had been reluctant to let her back in the water, but after discovering that water-repellent lotions would keep her physical transformation at bay for more than two hours, they had finally conceded.

That didn't mean they were happy about it, of course. On the one hand, she understood. They were afraid for her. For her safety. Anti-mutant sentiments were growing – even here, in the relative solitude of Hawaii. If someone discovered her powers…

On the other hand, she knew she couldn't live in fear of that. She wouldn't let that keep her from doing what she loved. When she was in the water, she felt so … so _free_. She couldn't imagine giving that up.

Cassidy stood with her fellow surfers, listening as the scores were announced. Name after name was called. "Cassidy Cruze—"

But that was as far as the announcer got, because he was interrupted by three giant robots that suddenly landed on the beach. Gasps and cries filled the air. Sentinels. What were they doing here?

One of the Sentinels stomped its way towards here. "Mutant identified. You will come with us."

"Why? I didn't do anything wrong."

Wrong thing to say. The people around her stepped back as she realized. She'd all but confirmed that she was the one they were looking for. The mutant. Even Nico stepped back, alarmed, as the words _mutant_ and _cheater_ filled the air. But Teresa simply shot him a glare before taking Cassidy's hand and squeezing it. Cassidy squeezed back, giving her friend a grateful smile.

Castor, meanwhile, had managed to gather some of their friends, who now stood between her and the Sentinels, forming a shield of sorts. But one of the Sentinels simply raised its hand towards them, and a sonic blast filled the air. As her friends fell beside her, Cassidy grabbed her surfboard and fled. The water. She would be safe in the water.

Another blast – some sort of laser – struck her surfboard, slicing it in two. "That was my favorite surfboard!" she called back, trying to sound like she was simply annoyed. Like this was nothing more than a nuisance. She was almost to the water. She was always safe in the water. She flashed a smile at the Sentinel as she leapt into the tide. "Catch me if you can!"

Summoning a current, she quickly propelled herself along the shoreline, barely glancing back at the stunned crowd. They weren't important now. Nothing was. Nothing but the water. The water that would save her from the Sentinels.

Just as she was beginning to think that maybe – _maybe_ – she would actually get away, something struck her. A blast of some sort, knocking her down. Her body went limp in the waves, which quickly washed her ashore. She could feel the sand against her scales.

Her scales. Through blurry vision, Cassidy could see that she had, in fact, transformed. Scales lined her body, with fins protruding from her back and gills along her neck. She gasped, exhausted, as her body struggled to figure out whether it should use her gills or her lungs to breathe. As the world grew darker, she could see the Sentinels approaching.

Then everything went black.

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **Secretary of Mutant Affairs**

 **19:23 AKST**

Everything was going perfectly.

Nicholas stretched his legs as the plane _finally_ landed. His three passengers were still sedated in the back of the airplane. The fourth mutant was on her way from Hawaii, unconscious but unharmed.

He could only hope the others hadn't had any problems, either.

He'd heard from some of them, but he was the first to arrive. Of course, he'd only made three stops – and those had been rather close together. Now that he thought about it, maybe he'd been kind to himself when he'd chosen the mutants he would retrieve. He hadn't had any significant problems. And he was home with plenty of time for dinner.

No. Not 'home.' Home would have to wait. He'd called Margaret and spoken with her; Rose had been at one of Elliot's basketball games. A perfectly normal Saturday. A perfectly normal life.

And it was that normal life that he was fighting to protect.

Some of the board had reservations, he knew. And that was good. He would be worried if his board had all been in favor, if there had been no hesitations about sending twenty-nine mutants to their deaths. None of them _wanted_ this. But it had to be done.

And there was no turning back now.

* * *

" _The only thing I'm guilty of is fighting for people like us."_


	4. Part of It

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And I'm back from family vacation. Since I was in a hurry last time, I didn't say it, but make sure to keep an eye out for allies as we're meeting the contestants, and let me know if you see a good fit. As usual, I may not be able to accommodate every request, but suggestions are always welcome.

Thank you to _bobothebear_ , _So hard to choose usernames_ , _when-is-winter-coming_ , and _MornieGalad Baggins_ for Austin, Jayden, Cameron, and Verona, respectively, and to _Skydork_ , _flintlightning_ , _District11-Olive_ , and _SpaceAgeDino_ for Hadley, Victoria, Akil, and Cassidy. (Since I forgot y'all last time.)

* * *

 **Part of It  
**

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

 **March 15th,** **10:33 CST**

He had been running late even before he had gotten lost.

Alvin glanced at his watch twice before remembering it was still three hours off. Between all the hustle and bustle, he hadn't had time to think about changing it. He had spent most of the time since his meeting with the three coaches tracking down the supplies they had asked for, in between helping Francine work out a few of the kinks in the cameras and ironing out a few remaining details of the arena with Lillian.

 _Then_ came an eight-hour overnight flight to Omaha, of all places, and a few hours at a somewhat suspicious-looking motel before a text message from Nicholas to remind him that he had to get moving. Nicholas, of course, had already collected three of his contestants.

So get moving he had, but it was slow going. He'd left the plane – and the Sentinels – in Omaha, and had been trying to navigate Bellevue's streets. He'd asked for directions – twice – but seemed no closer to his destination than when he had begun. He could ask the Sentinels for more exact directions, of course, but the sight of the robots would alarm people more than necessary. And, more pressingly, there was no way he was going to resort to asking for directions from a _machine_.

He was already cranky enough.

Alvin shook his head, glancing at the nearest street sign. Cornhusker Road. Of course. He was relatively sure that was exactly where he had started, except the wind was stronger now. Alvin pulled his jacket tighter as he turned to an older woman who looked perfectly comfortable sitting on a park bench despite the gusting wind. Shivering a little, he managed a smile. "Pardon me, ma'am. Do you know how I might get to Amerado Boulevard?"

 _Third time's the charm._

* * *

 **Austin Venley, 13  
** **Bellevue, NE**

 **11:56 CST**

Something was wrong.

Austin leapt up from the dining room table as the knock came a second time. He glanced up at his mother, whose panicked expression mirrored his own. They hadn't invited anyone over. Who would be knocking? Anders always called before coming over. And the knocking was louder, more rhythmic, than he would expect from his friend.

As soon as his mother opened the door, he knew something was _very_ wrong. He didn't know the man on the other side – tall and lanky, with dark, wrinkled pants, a well-worn jacket, and thick glasses – but Austin knew why he had come. There was only one reason. They had come for him. They wanted him for … what? Experiments? Tests? Execution?

Before the man could say anything, Austin darted to his room – and then silently cursed his stupidity. If the man hadn't known about his mutation before, he knew now. In his panic, he had raced to his room far faster than was humanly possible. But he couldn't have made it much farther. His power only took hold for a heartbeat at a time, and, right now, his heart was racing like mad.

What did they want with him?

He could hear his mother in the other room – trying to stay calm, at first, but finally pleading. "Please. Please don't take him. He's just a boy. He's never hurt anyone."

That was certainly true. Ever since discovering his mutation, Austin and his mother had done their best to hide it. She had immediately begun homeschooling him, and now he rarely left the house. When he did, he was careful. Very careful. So how had the government found out?

The man obviously worked for the government, of course. There was no other explanation. Who else would want him? Certainly not the police. He hadn't caused any trouble. He hadn't done anything.

He _never_ did anything.

After a moment, amid pleas from his mother, there was another knock on the door. _His_ door. Austin took a deep breath, then slowly opened the door. Maybe he could make a break for it. He could certainly get past the man. He'd had enough time to rest. Five seconds – that was all it usually took. Five seconds to … recharge? That made him sound like a machine, but he couldn't think of a better word.

"Please don't run." It was the 'please' that caught his attention, and stopped him from sprinting on the spot. "It's already been a long morning; I don't want any trouble. If you run, I'll still catch you. Or, more likely, the Sentinels will. And they won't be as gentle. So you can come with me now, quietly, or you can go with them later. It's your choice."

There was no choice. Not really. Austin glanced at his mother, who shook her head, tears shining in her eyes. Austin bit his lip and stepped out of his room.

"Where are we going?"

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14  
** **Sundown, TX**

 **16:33 CST**

 _Come back now._

Cameron stared at the text message, a bit surprised, then checked the time, just to make sure he wasn't late. Sure enough, he still had twenty-seven minutes left before he had to be back. He wasn't late. He was never late.

Well, not _never_. He had been late almost two years ago, when he and his sister Abigail had been out on the ranch. He had been bitten by a rattlesnake, and although the bite on his ankle had made it painful, he had walked back home under his own power – much to Abigail's surprise.

When he had continued to be unaffected by the poison, his parents and uncle Chester had been equally shocked, deeming it a miracle. And maybe it was – of sorts. Sure, he had survived because of his mutation, but maybe that in itself was a blessing.

His parents had bought him a cell phone after that, and insisted that he keep it with him at all times, but that wasn't so bad. How many parents _wanted_ their children to have 24-hour access to their phones? As far as he was concerned, he was lucky.

"We need to head back," Cameron called to Trent, who shrugged and followed him back to Uncle Chester's house. Once they got close, he could tell something was definitely out of the ordinary. A small plane sat in a clearing a little ways away from the house. "Maybe you should go home," Cameron suggested. Trent could drive back to town, of course. He was fifteen – old enough for his learner's permit. But Trent simply shook his head as the pair headed for the house.

Cameron's parents, Abigail, and Uncle Chester sat in the living room, along with a man Cameron didn't know. As Cameron and Trent entered, the man stood and offered his hand. "Alvin Mendelson. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board."

Cameron shook Alvin's hand as Trent took a seat. Everyone in the room already knew he was a mutant. He hadn't exactly tried to keep it a secret. It had taken his friends a little while to warm up to the idea, but they had come around. After all, his mutation wasn't anything _dangerous_. It wasn't as if was going to hurt them.

So when Vice President Nolan had identified himself as a mutant, Cameron had done the same, immediately registering himself. Maybe that was why Alvin had come. Maybe he simply needed to renew his registration every so often – like a driver's licence. There had been rumors, of course, that the government was targeting mutants. Apprehending them. But only the dangerous ones.

He wasn't dangerous.

Cameron's mother poured another cup of ice water. "Alvin was just telling us that he needs you to go with him for an experiment. Something to do with your abilities."

Cameron glanced at the stranger, who nodded. His father smiled. Ever since he'd discovered his mutation, they'd told him that God had made him special for a reason. That it was his responsibility to use his gift to help others. He had suggested, when he had registered, that maybe his blood could hold the key to finding antidotes. Maybe this was his chance. Cameron took a seat beside his mother, smiling up at Alvin.

"Would you like to stay for dinner first?"

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13  
** **Torrey, UT**

 **18:02 MST**

 _Strange man_.

Jayden heard Hiro's thoughts before she saw the man herself. Even before the doorbell rang, Hiro had smelled him and started barking. Her aunt Katrina hurried to the door, signaling to Jayden to hide. Jayden ducked behind the couch, but Hiro wouldn't stop barking.

He was afraid. Or maybe she was afraid. Maybe there was no difference. Her thoughts, the dog's thoughts – sometimes she had trouble telling them apart. Sometimes it was too hard to separate her own thoughts from the other voices in her head. But she was learning. Slowly, now that her parents were gone, she was learning.

They hadn't taken it well when she had told them that she heard voices. On her first day of first grade, she had freed the class gerbil, telling the teacher it had asked her to. On the way home, at her father's butcher's shop, the voices had overwhelmed her. Terrified. Pleading. Begging for freedom. For help.

Her parents had taken her to one doctor, and then another. Schizophrenia, they had said. But medication hadn't helped. Therapy hadn't helped. At their wits' end, her parents had taken her to a priest. When his exorcism had no effect, he had declared her the spawn of Satan. A mutant. The two were interchangeable to him – and to her parents, who spent the next few years moving from place to place, evading the authorities and trying to cure her, before finally deciding it was hopeless. She couldn't be cured, so she had to be cleansed. They had tied her hands and feet and cast her into the ocean.

A stray dog had saved her life, diving in to rescue her, and had stayed by her side until help came. Katrina had adopted both her and the dog, which she named Hiro, and her parents had been taken away. Things had been getting better. But now…

"Katrina Parker?" She could barely hear the man's voice over Hiro's barking and frantic thoughts. "Is there a Jayden Parker home?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I think you have the wrong address." An obvious lie. Their town wasn't exactly large.

"It wouldn't be the first time today," the man admitted. "But I'm afraid this _is_ the right place. Jayden needs to come with me for—"

That was as far as he got, because, in that moment, Hiro sprang from Jayden's side and lunged at the man, knocking him backwards and sinking his teeth deep into the man's arm. The man gave a shout, and immediately the door was gone. Not open, Jayden realized – _gone._ Swept away by a giant arm.

Hiro released the stranger and immediately lunged at the Sentinel, which raised its arm. Jayden screamed and raced towards Hiro, but the man was already on his feet, his injured arm tucked against his chest but the other raised towards the Sentinel. "Stand down! That's an order!"

"Your life was in danger," the Sentinel droned.

"And now it's not. _Stand down._ " He turned to Jayden, whose arms were wrapped tightly around Hiro. "You need to come with me. And you need to do it _now_ , before things get ugly."

Jayden clutched Hiro tightly, shaking, as Katrina stepped between them. "What do you want with her? Hasn't she been through enough?"

"Yes," the man answered simply, clutching his arm. "And I'm sorry, Jayden. But you _need_ to come with me, and you need to do it _now_ , or more people will get hurt." When she didn't budge, he shook his head desperately. "You can bring the dog."

Jayden peered past Hiro's fur, past Katrina, eyeing the stranger frantically. "Do you promise not to hurt him?"

The man smiled a little, his voice oddly calm as he removed his jacket and wrapped it around his injured arm, blood dripping onto the carpet.

"I promise."

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13  
** **Boyle Heights, CA**

 **19:49 PST**

"¡Guárdate de los idus de marzo!"

Verona glanced around frantically as the man outside the door continued, spouting nonsense about how Brutus was an honorable man. He had come for her – of that much, she was certain. But she couldn't let her parents know that. Couldn't let them take her. And as long as she kept confusing his words…

But how long could she keep it up? She could hear his voice growing more and more tense, frustrated by being unable to speak his own words. She still couldn't see him – her parents knew better than to open the door for a stranger – but she could hear him. And that was enough.

But for how long?

She had never tried to use her power for this long before. Usually, she didn't even try. For the last few months, it had been happening accidentally when she was distracted or bored. A teacher's math lesson would turn into a speech about that day's lunch. Her parents' lectures about safety would become a sonnet. When the man had arrived, knocking on the door and calling her name, she had been reading _Julius Caesar_ , so her mind had chosen that as the most accessible replacement for his words.

"La parte de tiranía que sufro puedo sacudirme cuando—Damn it, just _listen_ to me! I'm trying—"

Before he could finish his sentence, however, something swept through the living room. A giant hand reached down and grabbed her. Distracted, her hold on the man wavered, but, to her surprise, he shouted the word she would have chosen herself. "Stop!"

The robot froze, with Verona still clutched tightly in its grasp. A man stepped forward into the room – tall and thin, with rumpled clothes and a bandaged arm. He turned to Verona's parents. "Sorry about the roof. I'll see it's paid for. But I need to talk to Verona." He turned to Verona, who was still wriggling in the robot's grasp. "This was the noblest Roman of—" He took a few steps closer. "Please. Please, just _listen_."

Verona hesitated, but then nodded a little. The man closed his eyes, breathing hard. "Look. I've had a long day. And it's not going to get any better from here. I could make you stop." He held up a thin metal collar. "But I'd really rather not. What you do – it's fascinating. Truly, it is. And that's why I need you to come with me."

Verona shook her head. She couldn't. She couldn't let them do that to her family. She had to stay. But the man took a step closer. "You seem like a smart girl. There's nowhere for you to run once the Sentinel lets you go. If you try to confuse my orders to them, I just have to push a button, and they'll apprehend you regardless of what I say. This is a fight you _can't_ win. Do you understand?"

Verona nodded silently. It wasn't fair. But if they were going to take her either way, it would be better if she came quietly. Better for her family, certainly – and maybe even better for her. The stranger nodded slightly, then turned to the Sentinel. "Let her go."

"Command not accepted."

"Stupid machine," the stranger mumbled. "Override Mendelson dash J seven nine…" He glanced at some sort of note scribbled on his hand. "Four. Let her go."

Immediately, the Sentinel's grip loosened, and Verona dropped to the floor. Quickly, she scrambled to her feet, wrapping her family in a hug. After a moment, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be easier if you go quickly." Verona took a deep breath and followed the stranger out the door.

But she couldn't help looking back.

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

 **20:26 PST**

He couldn't help looking back.

Alvin adjusted the bandage on his left arm, trying to ignore the voices coming from the cabin behind him. He hadn't anticipated the dog. Stupid. Of course a girl who could read animals' thoughts would feel more comfortable with one or two around. Perhaps he should have brought a dog himself.

It was too late for that, of course. Too late to make empty gestures in an effort to win their trust. In the end, he didn't need their trust. He already had what he needed.

He had them.

Alvin leaned back in his seat, silently wondering why Nicholas had assigned him four of the youngest mutants. Had he anticipated Alvin's reluctance to use force, and chosen the easier assignments accordingly? Or was it something else?

Was it a test?

He had been one of only two, after all, to vote against the Games. But he hadn't exactly kept his reasons a secret. He'd been perfectly clear about his calculations, about what would happen if the Games went forward. He had nothing to hide and no poker face; Nicholas knew that as well as anyone else.

Maybe it wasn't a plot to test his intentions. Maybe it was something simpler than that. Maybe Nicholas had assigned him the younger mutants because he knew he would be gentle with them. Maybe he was being kind. Maybe he was being cruel.

Maybe it didn't matter.

In the end, it didn't really matter what any of them did. Their course had been decided once they had voted to go forward with the Games. The details were insignificant. The consequences had already been determined.

Alvin sighed as he headed for the cabin. Watching the four of them, the details didn't _seem_ insignificant. And they certainly didn't _feel_ insignificant. The oldest, Cameron, nodded to the empty seat between him and Verona, and Jayden stroked her dog's neck as Alvin took a seat. Finally, Austin asked the question that was surely brimming in everyone's minds. "Where are we going?"

"Alaska," Alvin answered vaguely. Clearly, the four children wanted more of an answer than that, but Alvin wasn't ready to give it. Wasn't ready to destroy whatever hope they had that this might be a quick, painless experiment. "I'll tell you more when we get there. For now, you should try to get some sleep, if you can." He leaned back a little. "So should I. Merciful powers, restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose."

Verona glanced up, surprised. "I didn't do that."

"No, you didn't." He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. "Now sleep." He smiled a little.

"Happy Ides of March."

* * *

" _I used to think it was gonna be you and me against the world. But no matter how bad the world gets, you don't_ want _to be against it, do you. You want to be part of it."_


	5. Bigger Than Yourself

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies while our contestants are being collected, and PM me if you see a good match.

Thank you to _grimbutnotalways_ , _Jabber Blabber Ink_ , _Alice Kingsleighs_ , _Greybeard mmmmmm3_ , and _BamItsTyler_ for Terry, Juliska, Natasha, Isadore, and Penelope, respectively.

* * *

 **Bigger Than Yourself**

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51**

 **March 15th, 07:00 CST**

There was no time to waste.

Judah glanced up at the Sentinels, who were leading the way through the empty streets. Whether everyone was afraid of the Sentinels or whether the small Kansas town was always this deserted early on a Saturday morning, Judah wasn't sure. Maybe it didn't matter. There was no one in his way – and that was a good thing.

Judah scanned through his notes one last time, even though he had already memorized practically every detail in the five files he had been given. He had been one of only two board members to be given five files rather than four, and he was certain Nicholas had assigned him some of the more dangerous mutants. A mutant who could create weapons out of his own bones. Mutants who could harness fire, water, and even gravity. And a little girl who could manipulate energy itself.

This wasn't going to be an easy day.

But he had never expected any of this to be easy. He hadn't joined the army because he'd wanted an easy life. He hadn't spent half of his life overseas because he had wanted to have fun. He hadn't joined the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board under any delusions, and he hadn't voted for the Games because he would enjoy it. He had known what he was getting into. And he had accepted this job anyway.

There were times he wished he hadn't.

It wasn't dealing with the mutants that was the problem. That was easy, and the Sentinels had only made his job easier. Machines were efficient. Effective. They followed orders without question and without second guessing every decision he made.

No, surprisingly enough, it was the people – the humans – who made his job difficult. So many of them were motivated by fear, driven only by their desire to protect their own lives. They didn't understand – not really – that this wasn't about _their_ lives. It wasn't even about their children's lives, or their grandchildren's lives.

This was about the survival of their species.

That wasn't something they were used to – thinking of humanity as a species, rather than a collection of fractured groups. Countries. Races. Religions. Suddenly, none of that mattered. They were part of something bigger – something bigger than any country, any race, any creed. They were part of a larger group now. They were all human.

Except the ones who weren't.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16  
** **Cawker City, KS**

 **07:03 CST**

The crash woke him immediately.

Terry sat up in bed, startled. He was used to waking with a start by now, but it was usually his own doing. He was getting better at controlling his mutation, but every now and then, when the nightmares got particularly bad, he would wake in pain to find a bone or two sticking through his skin.

So when the sudden noise shook him awake, that was his first thought. But a quick glance over his body revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and he wasn't in any pain – or, at least, no more than normal.

Then he looked up.

Terry rolled out of the way just as a giant hand came sweeping down through what was left of the roof. Without a second thought, he raced from his room to find Samantha standing there, calling his name, already on her feet. "What's happening?" There was fear in her voice, despite her best efforts to hide it. But she wasn't afraid of him.

She had never been afraid of him.

She had been the first one to show him kindness, when she had found him on the streets, bones sticking out of his body. His parents had thrown him out of the house, but Samantha … Samantha had been kind. She had bought him food, taken him home and given him a place to rest. Then she had tried to take him back to his family.

But they hadn't wanted him. She was his family now. And she wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid _for_ him. "I don't know," Terry admitted. "There was a giant hand and—"

Before he could get any farther, the hand swept through the roof once more, reaching for him. But Samantha was too quick. In one motion, she leapt in front of him, shoving him out of the way. But the Sentinel wasn't interested in her. One sweep of its arm sent her flying into a pile of debris.

Blood. That was all he could see as she landed. Blood and a piece of the roof sticking out of Samantha's side. "No!" Terry screamed, racing for where Samantha lay motionless. Even as he did, he felt something pierce through his arm. A bone, long and white and sharp, shot out just as the arm reached for him again.

With a cry of pain and rage, Terry drove the bone as deep as he could into the robot's arm. But that didn't stop the second Sentinel, which reached down and grabbed hold of him. Another bone shot out of his back, piercing the Sentinel's hand, but it didn't let go. "Bring him here!" called a voice.

The Sentinel lowered him quickly, and something snapped around his neck. Terry reached up to grab at it, but pain shot through his body even as the Sentinel released him. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"It's a collar designed to—"

"I don't care! What did you do to _her_?" His eyes flew to the corner where Samantha lay lifeless, blood pooling around her body. "What did you _do_?" He barely heard the man's answer as the pain began to overwhelm him.

"Only what I had to."

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19  
** **Aspen, CO**

 **08:32 MST**

She had thought things would be better here.

Juliska shook her head as she switched off the morning news. Every channel seemed to be covering either a riot or a story about the Sentinels apprehending a dangerous mutant suspect. That was all anyone seemed to be talking about these days – the mutant threat.

They might as well just say it. Might as well just admit they were afraid. Afraid of mutants like _her._ Not that she had ever intentionally hurt anyone with her powers, but it wouldn't be hard, if she had the mind to. In the wrong hands, a power like hers…

Well, sometimes it made sense that they were afraid.

But the Sentinels – they weren't the answer. The real answer was the one her aunt had suggested. Lujza had invited Juliska to join her in America and had wanted to enroll her in a special school. A school for mutants, she had said. A school where she would finally be able to learn to control her powers.

A school that was now gone.

No one said it, but they all knew why – what had happened. What must have happened. The Sentinels had attacked. Juliska could only hope that the people there – the students, the teachers – had managed to get away. But any chance of being able to join them was gone forever.

Juliska shook her head, summoning a flame and sending it shooting out of her arm and towards the fireplace. She was getting better at controlling the direction of the flames, but she was still careful to keep plenty of water handy – just in case.

Just as the flames began to lap at the wood, however, something crashed through the ceiling. Juliska let out a scream as a stream of water came flowing out of a giant hand, dousing both her and the fireplace. "What the hell?" she demanded.

Then she realized. A giant hand. Sentinels. Juliska bolted out the door, but there was nowhere to run. A man stood on the lawn, flanked by three Sentinels. "Lujza!" Juliska called frantically before remembering. Lujza had said something about taking Terezia to dance practice. They were probably already gone, but—

"Juliska!" her cousin Tamas called, racing outside.

 _Shit._ Now she had to worry about him, too. "Stay there!" Juliska called as she took off running towards the woods behind their house. If she could make it to the forest, there would be plenty of wood to burn. She might be able to confuse the Sentinels long enough to…

But she never made it that far. A giant hand wrapped around her waist, squeezing her tightly even as her body caught aflame. Something struck her neck. A dart of some sort. Probably a tranquilizer, Juliska realized as everything began to grow fuzzy. She could see Tamas staring, confused, frightened.

She just hoped Lujza would be back soon.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 21  
** **Las Vegas, NV**

 **09:57 PST**

That party must've been wilder than she'd thought.

Natasha stared up at the giant arm. That was strange. She still had a splitting hangover, but that usually didn't make her hallucinate. "Anton?" she called, still a bit groggy. "Anton? Josh? Is that you?" The pair of telepaths could easily make her see a giant arm coming towards her. But as far as pranks went, that really wasn't their style. They would probably have chosen something a bit more creative than a Sentinel.

A Sentinel. _Aw, crap._ Natasha tried to stand up, only to realize she was floating a few feet off the ground. That happened sometimes. Her power was always a bit harder to control when she'd had a little too much to drink, and last night … well, last night had been fun.

That was one of the first things she had discovered about her power – that she could lessen gravity's effect on herself. She'd been able to slow her fall when jumping out of the window of an abandoned farmhouse after being kidnapped by a rival gang that had been hoping to extort ransom money from her father. Boy, had they been surprised.

Natasha giggled a little, remembering. Fearing for her life, her father had sent her to America. If only he could see her now. Sure, mutants weren't always treated much better here, but at least she was _free_. Free to do what she wanted, when she wanted to do it, without worrying about how it might effect her father or his reputation.

That was all she'd really wanted.

Natasha stretched her arms a little, lowering herself to the ground. Hovering was easy. Lessening gravity's pull was easier than strengthening it, but she'd been working on both. She could increase gravity enough to crush a soda can, but that was just about it. Making things lighter was easier. Maybe that was why she felt so lightheaded.

No. No, that wasn't it, Natasha realized as she finally noticed the pain in her neck. Some sort of dart. That was odd. She remembered playing darts last night, but she was pretty sure she would remember someone hitting her in the neck. So this was something else. Some sort of dart someone had…

Someone. Probably the someone who was standing right in front of her. A tall, dark-skinned man in a military uniform. At least, she was pretty sure it was a military uniform. Maybe it was a marching band outfit.

Something snapped around her neck. Some sort of collar. Natasha giggled. "Oh, so that's the game you want to play?"

The man shrugged. "That's right. We're just going to play a little game. And the first rule is, you need to do what I say."

Natasha giggled. "Whatever you say … Sir."

"All right, then. Come with me."

Natasha staggered forward a little, trying to get her balance, throwing a playful salute in his direction. "You got it, General."

This was going to be fun.

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15  
** **Cascade Locks, OR**

 **12:14 PST**

What were the Sentinels doing here?

Isadore fought back a wave of panic as he, Terri, Connor, and Nick ducked behind the nearest building. The Sentinels hadn't seen them yet, but it wouldn't take long to find them. They were in the middle of town – and not a particularly large town, at that. There were only so many places to hide.

Isadore glanced at Terri, who couldn't hide the terror in her eyes. Who were they here for? Him? Her? Both of them? Or maybe his brother Kody, who was still at home. Maybe the Sentinels were simply patrolling, but that didn't seem likely. Whenever he turned on the news and saw Sentinels, they seemed to be in larger cities. New York. Chicago. Los Angeles. Larger cities meant more people, which meant more mutants. If they were here, in Cascade Locks, there was a reason.

And the reason was probably one of them.

Isadore peeked around the corner of the building, and immediately, a man in a military uniform pointed in his direction. "There!"

Isadore clenched his teeth. It might not even be him that they wanted. He wasn't dangerous – not really. He didn't have the same control over his power that his brother had, but if he lost control, at worst, someone would get drenched. If Terri lost control, she could burn down the whole town. So if they were here for anyone…

He had to think fast. "Stay here," he whispered to Terri, then stepped out from behind the building. "Wait! Don't shoot. I'll come with you."

The man nodded. "Very sensible."

But Isadore wasn't finished. "I'll come with you – as long as you leave everyone else in town alone. Once I leave with you, you take the Sentinels out of here."

The man smiled a little, clearly amused. But then, to Isadore's surprise, he nodded. "Consider it done." He stepped closer, holding something out to Isadore – some sort of metal collar. "Put it on."

Isadore studied the collar for a moment. _M-0103_ was engraved in the metal. "What does it do?"

The man shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Put it on and come quietly, or your friends are coming along with us."

Isadore hesitated, but then nodded a little and slipped the collar on. "Wait!" Terri called, racing forward, but Isadore shot her a look. The Sentinels had come for him; that much was obvious now. He wasn't about to let them get her, too.

"Stay here, Terri," he insisted. "I'll be fine. I promise."

He just hoped it wasn't a lie.

* * *

 **Penelope-098, 12  
** **Sanctuary, WA**

 **13:28 PST**

Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

Penelope raced through the trees as another building burst into flames behind her. Sanctuary was burning, its inhabitants racing this way and that – some trying to fight the Sentinels, some simply running. Penelope clenched her fists as she ran faster, her energy reserves propelling her forward with inhuman speed. Maybe fighting – defending the place that had become her home over the last few months – was the right thing to do. Maybe it was even her duty.

But she was tired of fighting. She was tired of duty. For so long, it was all she had known – the daily training regimens, the fighting, the discipline. When she and Harper had broken out of their training facility two years ago along with a handful of other mutants, she had thought she could leave that life behind her. And when they had discovered Sanctuary, a secret refuge for mutants and mutant sympathizers situated along the Canadian border – she had begun to hope that maybe – just maybe – she could finally live a normal life.

But that wasn't an option any more, Penelope realized as an energy blast struck her from behind. She barely felt it, and only turned long enough to direct it back at the Sentinel. But the Sentinel didn't budge, and fired again – hard enough to level a few of the nearby trees. Penelope clenched her fists as the shock hit her, just as another Sentinel struck her from behind. A third shock brought her to her knees, and one of the Sentinels reached down, clutching her in its hand.

"Let her go!" Harper. Penelope's vision was blurry from the energy, but she could still hear her friend. Then she could see him – charging at one of the nearest Sentinels. "Leave her alone! I'm the one you want!"

But he wasn't. The Sentinel was completely unharmed by his punches, and easily scooped him up. "Leave him alone!" Penelope cried, but it was too late. With a terrible crack, Harper was gone, his body torn in two and tossed to the ground as the Sentinels turned back towards Sanctuary.

Penelope fought back tears, struggling as much as she could, trying to wriggle out of the Sentinel's grasp. But it did no good. Soon, they were back on the outskirts of the village, the heat from the fires licking at her skin, the smoke stinging her eyes. "Why?" she whispered, not really expecting an answer.

But she got one, nonetheless. A man stepped forward out of the smoke. "Because they were dangerous. This many mutants, living together in one place, feeding each other ideas—"

 _Ideas_. He said that like they had been planning to attack him, or planning to overthrow the government. All she'd ever wanted – all any of the mutants at Sanctuary wanted – was a normal life. And, for however brief a time, Linda had given them that.

Linda. Where was she? Was she still alive? Had she gotten away? Maybe they wouldn't hurt her; she wasn't a mutant, after all. Penelope glanced around frantically as her vision began to grow blurry. The Sentinel lowered her towards the man, and something closed around her neck.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51**

 **19:41 AKST**

It was good to be back.

Judah stretched a little before climbing out of the plane, flashing a salute in Nicholas' direction. "The others?"

Nicholas shook his head. "Not back yet. Hans should be here soon. Mack and Francine have checked in and are on their way. Lillian still has to pick up the two here in Alaska, but after that it's only a short flight. No word from Alvin, but—"

"But that's no surprise," Judah finished. "The man is incapable of following procedure."

Nicholas shrugged a little. "True, but he gets the job done. He'll be here."

"You're so sure – even after he voted against the Games?"

Nicholas smiled. "He didn't vote against the Games because has has conflicted loyalties. He voted against them because of what he believes the ramifications might be."

"What he's _calculated_ the ramifications might be."

"His calculations are based on assumptions. I disagree, but I trust him to do his job. If we start suspecting each other every time someone expresses an opinion contrary to our own, then people become afraid to _voice_ their opinions. And that's something I don't want. I want to hear everyone's opinion. Even yours," he added with a smile. "So let's have it. What's bothering you?"

Judah shook his head. "Some of the contestants we've chosen are … less than threatening. Even the ones with more formidable abilities – I'm not certain they'll behave as we expected. The girl who can manipulate gravity was too hungover to put up a fight. The aquakinetic boy gave in the moment I threatened his friends. I'm used to working with soldiers. Are you sure they'll fight?"

"Alvin says they will."

"I don't _trust_ Alvin. And I don't trust his calculations. I trust my experience, and from what I've seen of these kids … some of them are fighters, but the rest of them…"

"Some is enough."

"Pardon?"

"We don't need _all_ of them to be willing to fight, Judah – at least, not at first. We need one or two who are willing to charge in, ready to stir the pot. The rest will follow – or they'll die. We don't need all of them to be fighters – just enough to get things going. Momentum will carry it from there."

Momentum. It was easy to forget that Nicholas, too, was a scientist, not a soldier. But it was no use arguing now; they'd come to far to change their minds and recruit better candidates. "If you say so, Sir," Judah conceded at last. "I just hope you're right."

Nicholas nodded. "So do I."

* * *

" _You have a chance to be part of something much bigger than yourself."_


	6. Down This Path

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies while our contestants are being collected, and let me know if you see a good match.

Thank you to _Jalen Kun_ , _calebbeers21_ , _Axe Smelling God_ , and _twistedservice_ for Rory, John, Parker, and Clara, respectively.

* * *

 **Down This Path**

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 36**

 **March 15th, 09:26 EST**

 _So it's like a reality show._

Mack couldn't help a small smile as he made his way through the busy Atlanta streets. When he had asked the question a few months ago at one of their board meetings, practically everyone had laughed. And, of course, it wasn't like a reality show at all. Reality shows didn't pose any real danger to the contestants. And they were generally vying for a prize or some money, not their lives. It wasn't like a reality show at all.

But they could _sell_ it as one.

They weren't stupid enough, of course, to air the Games live. They would be able to edit the footage before the audience saw a minute of it. They would control what the public saw, and they could frame it any way they wanted. They had settled on a mix between a reality show and a documentary. _See mutants in their native habitat._

Never mind, of course, that mutants' native habitat was the same as humans'. That mutants lived naturally – and some quite peacefully – in the very streets he was walking through right now. Anyone he passed could be a mutant, and he would never know.

The Sentinels would know, of course, but right now, that wasn't their job. They were looking for four very specific mutants. Anything else was, for the moment, completely inconsequential. They couldn't afford to get distracted by every mutant out shopping on a Saturday morning.

Mack glanced up at the Sentinels. So they were lying. Manipulating the public. What else was new? Both the government and the media had been doing that for decades. All they had to do was persuade the public that they had gathered thirty mutants and were placing them under observation for a few weeks. A test to see how they would interact, how they would behave. An experiment.

No one needed to know that the experiment was carefully controlled. No one needed to know that they were going to _tell_ the mutants to kill each other – that fighting and killing was part of the plan. Anything the mutants said about the instructions they had been given could be carefully edited out of the footage. To the audience, it would seem that mutants simply had a natural urge to fight, to kill, to destroy.

It wasn't true, of course – no more than it was true for the rest of humanity. But there was no denying that the abilities they possessed made them especially _good_ at it. And that was the point. After three or four years of watching mutants destroy each other at will, the public would be frightened, certainly, but they would also be intrigued. Once they saw what mutants could do – and once they saw that they could be _controlled_ – the possibilities were endless.

Mack thumbed through his files one more time. From what he'd managed to gather from Colonel Burgess, Project Uppercut had had the right idea. They'd wanted to harness mutant abilities for the good of all. To train them and use them as soldiers, combating threats from both mutants and humans alike. Their only flaw was that they'd try to go behind the president's back. They'd been a secret operation.

This time, the world would know exactly what these mutants could do.

* * *

 **Rory Cunningham, 15  
** **Atlanta, GA**

 **09:32 EST**

He knew something was wrong the moment the whistle blew.

Rory glanced over at Coach Gilmore, who was talking to a man in a bright blue suit. The man looked strangely familiar, but Rory couldn't place him. Maybe a college recruiter, but they usually only came to games, not Saturday morning practices. Rory took a drink of water as the whole team watched, catching their breaths. Finally, Gilmore shook his head. "Rory! Come here a moment!"

Rory bounded over, trying to shrug it off. "What's up, Coach?"

It was the man in the suit who answered. "Rory Cunningham? My name is Mack Urban. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board."

So that was why he looked familiar. Rory gave what he hoped was a polite nod, trying his best not to take a step away from the man. Over the last year, he'd been all over the news, one of the most vocal proponents of the Mutant Registration Act.

A law he'd been ignoring ever since it had been passed.

Rory flashed his best smile. "How can I help you, sir?"

"I need you to come with me and answer a few questions."

"About what?"

"Your mutation."

The whole team was watching now. His friends were watching. His coach. None of them knew. He hadn't told them. Hadn't had any real reason to tell them. It wasn't as if his power was dangerous. Wasn't as if it were good for anything more than bluffing his way into R-rated movies, getting into bars, and hitting on older girls. It wasn't as if he'd actually _hurt_ anyone. Not as if he _could._

Rory forced a laugh. "Sorry, sir, but I think you've got the wrong guy."

"I'm sure I haven't. And I have three Sentinels waiting outside the door to verify that you _are_ a mutant, but I'd rather not cause a scene…"

 _Shit._ Rory's mind raced, but he managed a laugh. "Fine, fine. Have it your way. I'll come – just to prove you've got the wrong guy." He shrugged. "Besides, by the time we get this thing sorted out, maybe they'll be done running laps, right, Coach?"

Coach Gilmore smiled, looking quite reassured that this was all a misunderstanding. _If he only knew._ "I expect you back for the game this afternoon."

Rory grinned. "Sure thing, Coach." But as he and Mack made their way out of the building, he couldn't help a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not going to be back in time for that game, am I."

Mack shook his head. "Afraid not."

Rory clenched his fists tightly. "What do you want with me? I didn't hurt anyone. I'm not dangerous. I—"

"I know," Mack nodded, shrugging a little. "That's the point."

* * *

 **John Knox, 21  
** **Dallas, TX**

 **10:47 CST**

How long had they been knocking?

John rolled over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. What had it been? Four hours? Maybe five? He shook his head. He'd occasionally thought about hanging a sign on his door to let people know that he worked nights and that if he was home, he was probably asleep. But how many people in Dallas would actually stop to read the sign?

And how many of them would care?

Not that he was complaining. The city was a good place to hide. Better than most. And a job as a bouncer at one of the local bars – well, that was just about perfect for someone like him. Most folks knew better than to bother him, so he essentially just had to stand there. And if things _did_ get out of hand … well, who was going to listen when a bunch of drunks in a bar claimed they saw a grizzly bear?

Weirder things happened every day in Dallas.

Slowly, John made his way over to the door. "All right, all right already," he grumbled, glancing through the peephole. A man in a suit stood outside, smiling. Of course. Why was everyone always smiling? John shook his head. "What do you want?"

"John Knox?"

"Who's asking?"

"Mack Urban. I'm from the—"

John didn't catch the rest of the sentence. He knew the name. Every mutant in Texas probably knew the name. One of their state's representatives. One of the leading advocates for the Mutant Registration Act.

Definitely not a friend.

Immediately, John raced for the window. He was on the second floor of the apartment building, but that was nothing to a bear. He could feel the glass in his fur as he smashed through the window, but that wasn't important. He could deal with that later. All that mattered now was getting away.

People raced every which way as he tore through the streets. But that didn't matter. _They_ didn't matter. All that mattered was getting away. Because whatever the government wanted with him, it wouldn't be good. For months, they'd been talking about detaining 'dangerous' mutants. For their own safety, or for the public good. And what could be more dangerous than a bear rampaging through the streets of Dallas?

Plenty of things, actually. But apparently, that didn't matter. John turned the corner with a roar, and people continued to scatter out of his way. Just as he rounded a second corner, however, a Sentinel appeared in his path. John glanced back. Another one was behind him, and closing fast. There was only one choice.

With as fearsome a roar as he could manage, John leapt at the Sentinel, digging his teeth into the robot's armor. But it did no good. The other Sentinel fired some sort of blast, and pain shot through his body. John let out a cry as the Sentinel dropped him to the ground and the bear began to fade. Something closed around his neck as everything started to grow dark.

It wasn't fair.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19  
** **Santa Fe, NM**

 **12:08 MST**

It wasn't fair.

Parker gripped the door handle tightly as the voices continued to escalate in the other room. Her parents were arguing with the man at the door. She couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but she knew. She had known for days that something was wrong. Something was about to happen.

But, until now, she hadn't known what. All she'd been able to see was a fuzzy image of her family sitting in the living room without her, crying. She hadn't been able to see her own future. She never could.

And now she didn't really want to.

"There must be some mistake!" Her father's voice, loud and irritated. "Our daughter isn't a mutant!"

"Don't you think we would _know_ about something like that?" her mother insisted.

But, of course, they didn't. Parker closed her eyes, wishing the voices would just stop. They didn't even realize that they were lying. That she _was_ a mutant. How _could_ they know? She'd never been able to work up the courage to tell them. And now…

 _Calm down._ She didn't even realize that she was projecting the thought until the voices in the other room began to soften. Slowly, gradually, everyone's tone grew gentler. Parker slowly turned the door handle. This was her fault. She'd put them in danger.

She hadn't meant to, of course. Hadn't realized that the government knew about her. That, even if they knew, they would consider her a threat. But the vision should have been a hint. They were going to take her. It was inevitable. The only thing she could do was make sure none of them got hurt in the process.

The man at the door smiled a little. "You must be Parker."

Parker nodded, then turned to her parents. Her brother and sister, Eric and Savannah. "I'm sorry. I should have told you." _Stay calm. Don't shout. Please._

"Oh, honey, it's all right," her mother crooned. "Please, just tell us what's going on. This man here says you're a—"

"—a mutant," Parker finished. _It's okay. Just stay calm._ "And he's right. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but … but it's okay. I'll be fine. I just have to go with him for a little while. I'll be fine, and I'll see you soon."

Lies. All lies, she was sure. But they did the job. Her family smothered her with hugs before letting her leave, but, finally, she made it out the door, breathing a sigh of relief and trying to hold back her tears.

Mack waved the Sentinels away as he led her to a nearby car. "Impressive. We could use someone like you in congress."

Parker forced a smile. "I wouldn't mind a promotion."

Mack chuckled a little, but how much of that was actual amusement and how much of that was her influence, she wasn't entirely sure. "I'm sorry, Ms. Reyes. Really, I am. But the government has other plans."

Parker swallowed hard. "When I told my family I would be back soon … I was lying, wasn't I."

Mack nodded. "Probably."

At least he was being honest.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19  
** **Maricopa, AZ**

 **14:12 MST**

She sometimes wished she could be honest with him.

Clara smiled and gave her brother Aiden a friendly punch as the two headed back home from the kick-boxing studio. He was getting a little better, but it was obvious that he mostly just enjoyed spending time with her. Despite technically being half-siblings, they'd always been close. For a while, she'd wanted to tell him.

Clara shook her head. Not yet. That was what she always told herself. Not today. Maybe she would tell him tomorrow. Or maybe she would just show him. Maybe one of these days, she simply wouldn't be able to stop herself from making him punch himself in the face or something when he got on her nerves. Or maybe…

Maybe it would simply be an instinct, like it had been the day she had discovered her powers. She had only been eight years old; Aiden had been three. He had been toddling his way down the driveway towards the road. There hadn't been any real danger, of course; there had been no cars coming. But she had panicked. She had stopped him – just by thinking it.

She hadn't even understood what she had done at the time – not really. But her mother had known, and finally admitted that her father had been a mutant, too … and that he had disappeared. One day, some men had come for him, and she had never seen him again. Her mother had warned her never to use her powers, insisted that the same thing would happen to her.

She hadn't listened. If they were going to come for her, they would come for her, regardless of what she did. So there was no point in hiding. No reason not to live her life until that day came.

"Clara?" Aiden's voice shook her from her thoughts. He was pointing at something. A man in a blue suit, coming towards them, followed by three giant robots. Sentinels. For a moment, she couldn't help staring. Sentinels weren't exactly something she'd expected to see in Arizona. Weren't they usually in bigger cities, looking for—

Mutants. Looking for mutants. Clara tensed as the man approached. "Clara Seville?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Mack Urban. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

"Why?"

"Nothing to worry about. We just need to ask you a few questions and—"

Before he could finish his sentence, however, his own fist came flying towards his face. "Run!" Clara called to Aiden, grabbing his hand. But they'd only made it a few feet before a giant hand closed around her.

"Clara!" Aiden called, reaching for her, ready to throw himself at the Sentinel.

"Stop!" Clara shouted, reaching out with her mind, just as she had all those years ago. Aiden froze. But the Sentinel didn't.

And neither did the man in the suit.

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 36**

 **14:53 MST**

Most of them weren't dangerous.

Mack leaned back in his seat as the pilot took off. The four mutants were in the back, but he hadn't needed to sedate most of them. John was starting to come around, but the collars were enough to ensure that they wouldn't have a giant grizzly in the back of the plane. And none of the others were immediately dangerous.

There were members of the board who had been a bit uneasy about that – selecting mutants whose powers weren't particularly threatening. But they had come around, in the end – or been outvoted. In fact, the use of non-threatening mutants was even more essential. If they had only included those with more dangerous powers, those with less threatening ones could always claim that _they_ weren't the problem. That _they_ would never behave as the mutants in the arena had.

But now they wouldn't have that excuse. That was the point of the Games. To prove that _all_ mutants were dangerous. That they would _all_ turn on each other. That even the most normal-seeming mutants were a threat.

Mack shook his head as he dialed Nicholas' number and checked in. Humans were just as dangerous, of course. If they were to put thirty humans in an arena and tell them to kill each other, they would eventually turn on each other, as well. But they didn't have to tell the audience that.

They didn't have to tell the audience anything.

Mack closed his eyes as the plane leveled off. It was a shame, really. But it wouldn't take long. It wouldn't be long before the public realized that the Games could be molded and shaped into something better. A boot camp of sorts for mutant supersoldiers. Eventually, they could have more than one winner – three or four, maybe – and those who emerged victorious could take their place in the army, rather than whatever Nicholas currently had planned for the winner.

What, exactly, that was, Nicholas hadn't been entirely clear on – except for the fact that the winner would be allowed to live. And maybe that was enough. But it seemed a shame to simply let them go, when their powers could be put to use for the greater good. Why couldn't they take care of several problems in one fell swoop?

Because most of their powers could be useful in the right circumstances. A spy who could change his age at will. A soldier with the strength of a grizzly. A negotiator who could calm even the roughest waters. An officer who could shout "Freeze!" and be certain that a criminal would actually do so. Their powers could be put to use to serve all of humanity.

But it wasn't his call. He wasn't in charge. Maybe someday. Maybe once Nicholas decided to retire. If the Games lasted that long, of course. Alvin had said...

Mack shook his head. Never mind what Alvin had said. Alvin was paranoid. He was useful, of course, but all of his theories and calculations couldn't actually predict anything. In the end, he had no more idea of what was going to happen than anyone else did. None of them really knew how anyone would react to the Games. All they could do was hope for the best.

But sometimes he wasn't sure what to hope for.

* * *

" _Are we destined down this path, destined to destroy ourselves like so many species before us?"_


	7. What They See

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to keep an eye out for allies as our contestants are being collected, and PM me if you see a good match. Thank you to _Skydork_ , _Deuce Ex Machina_ , _ZazzyZ_ , and _So hard to choose usernames_ for Reese, Taylor, Ryden, and Rachel, respectively

* * *

 **What They See**

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 42**

 **09:36 CST**

She could practically see everything spinning out of control.

Francine shook her head as she headed for the office building the Sentinels had led her to. Somewhere inside was one of the mutants she was supposed to apprehend. Apprehend. That was the word Mack had used. He was good at that – making the idea of the Games sound less despicable. But that couldn't really change what they were doing.

What _she_ was doing. Francine gripped the bag that held the files that Nicholas had given her. She hadn't wanted any part of this. Not once the rest of the board had made it clear that they were planning to use children for the Games.

It hadn't sounded like such a bad idea at first – using a few dangerous mutants to convince the public of the threat. That was how the idea had started. They could apprehend a few mutant criminals, place them in an arena, and force them to demonstrate their powers by fighting to the death.

But, slowly, the idea had morphed and grown into something far worse. Instead of criminals, they were apprehending mutants who, for the most part, had done nothing wrong. Sure, there were a few who had caused an incident or two, but nothing that would justify what they were about to do.

It was exactly what had happened with the Sentinels. When she had first joined the Sentinel program as a technician, it had been with the understanding that the Sentinels would only be used as a last resort, to apprehend mutant criminals in situations where it was too dangerous to send in the police. Working remotely from her home in northern Montana, she had risen through the ranks and quickly become one of the country's leading authorities on Sentinel technology.

Which was why she had been chosen for the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. Her experience with the Sentinels made her a natural choice, but it hadn't taken her long to realize just how far out of her league she really was. How out of control the Sentinels had gotten. Exactly what her work had done.

Which was why she was still here. She needed to find a way to fix it. It was _her_ work, her research, her technology, that was being used. That made it her responsibility. From the inside, maybe she could find a way to turn things around. To make the others see what they were really doing.

She had thought that the fact that they were using children would be the tipping point. The final straw that would convince the others not to go through with the Games. But, to her surprise and disappointment, she and Alvin had been firmly outvoted, five to two. None of the others seemed to see anything wrong with forcing children to fight to the death. They were too frightened, or too ambitious, or simply too callous to see what they were really doing.

She would just have to hope the country would see it differently.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22  
** **Biloxi, MS**

 **09:44 CST**

He'd always been able to see the connections more quickly than most people.

Reese hummed a little to himself as he worked his way through the company's computer system. He usually worked tech support, but he was also called in on occasion when the building's own systems had a glitch or two. Not that he minded much – even on a Saturday. Overtime paid well, and he'd always enjoyed fixing things. Even before his mutation had begun to kick in, he'd always had a knack for computers. Now…

Now, it was like a second language to him. And languages were his thing. He understood these computers – their language, their processes, their code – in a way he would never really be able to understand other people. People were so _complicated_. But this – this was a piece of cake.

Piece of cake. Reese shook his head as he kept typing. Silly expression, now that he thought about it. There was nothing about the situation that was sweet or delicious. Why would a piece of cake automatically be something easy? Unless the phrase was meant to mean 'easy as _eating_ a piece of cake.' That made a little more sense. But what made eating a piece of cake easier than eating, say, a piece of pie? Was that where 'easy as pie' came from, too?

"Reese Delaney?"

Reese looked up, startled, to see a woman standing beside him. How long had she been there? He'd been so focused on his work, half the building could have been swept away by a tornado, and he wouldn't have noticed. Not that it was tornado season – was it? When _was_ tornado season?

Reese shook the thought from his head, smiling up at the woman. "That's me. Can I help you?"

"My name is Francine Temple. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I need you to come with me and—"

That was as far as she got. Reese sprang up from his desk and sprinted from the room. What did the MAAB want with him? He hadn't done anything. Well, maybe he'd hacked into a system or two that he shouldn't have, but he hadn't done anything _dangerous_.

Reese raced from the room as quickly as he could. Down the stairs. Some sort of alarm sounded. Did they know he was trying to escape? Had the woman alerted someone? She certainly didn't seem to be following him. Maybe he could outrun her. She hadn't looked particularly fast.

Reese breathed a sigh of relief as he caught sight of a fire escape. All he had to do was make it outside. But then what? If the government was coming for him, that meant they knew about his power. They knew where he lived. He would have to run. But running was almost certainly better than whatever the MAAB had planned for him.

More alarms sounded as the door opened, leading to a set of stairs. As Reese began to clamber down them, however, he could see why the woman hadn't chased him from the room. There, waiting for him, was a Sentinel. Reese ducked as it reached for him, but only succeeded in tripping down the stairs. Before he could hit the pavement, however, a giant hand reached out and grabbed him.

"Put him down – gently!" the woman's voice called. The Sentinel set him down beside her. The woman shook her head. "Please don't run again; it's not going to end well for anyone. Just come with me."

Reese rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. Every instinct he had was screaming that he shouldn't go. That he shouldn't trust her. But what choice did he have? If he ran, the Sentinels would simply grab him again. If he tried to fight, the only person he would end up hurting was himself. Finally, Reese nodded.

"Where are we going?"

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18  
** **New Orleans, LA**

 **10:53 CST**

Megan saw the Sentinels coming first.

Taylor took off alongside the others – Megan, Alice, Eric, and Timmy – as soon as Megan called out her warning. Technically, of course, she hadn't _seen_ the Sentinels. She'd heard them. That was Megan's gift.

There weren't many mutants, Taylor knew, who saw their powers as a gift. And it would be easy to blame her situation on her mutation. To say that maybe if she hadn't been a mutant, her family would have accepted her. But that was too easy. Not to mention, it was a load of crap. Her parents had been abusive long before learning about her powers. The fact that she was a mutant had simply been an excuse.

Sure, it had also allowed her parents to get away with practically anything. Nothing they did left a mark for long, and her body had quickly adapted. Her bones had grown tougher, her skin thicker. No one noticed the abuse; no one _could_ have. And she hadn't told anyone. She had simply run away.

Now, that life was far behind her. These kids were her life now – her fellow mutants. They'd been together for years now, and she'd be damned if she was going to let the Sentinels ruin that now.

"Follow me!" Taylor called, taking a sharp right through an alleyway. The others followed. Of course they did. She was the oldest. The strongest. The one who'd always been there to protect them. They would follow her anywhere.

And she knew exactly where she was going. By now, she knew every street like the back of her hand. Places to hide, places to run, places where five runaway teens would go completely unnoticed. And they didn't need to run forever. Just until whoever was controlling the Sentinels decided to give up and go back where they came from. Surely they had better things to do than chase down a couple of runaways.

"Up ahead!" Megan called, the fear obvious in her voice. Of course she was afraid. They'd all seen the news reports of the Sentinels apprehending 'dangerous' mutants. Reports that were growing more and more violent every day. Taylor took a quick right turn, but it wasn't enough. Another Sentinel stood in their path.

Taylor clenched her teeth, picking up a piece of plywood from a nearby trash can and heaving it at the Sentinel. "Over here, you big tin can!" she shouted, then motioned to Megan and the others to run the other way. "I'll catch up!"

Sure enough, the Sentinel followed her, ignoring the others completely. Great. Now she just had to figure out how _she_ was going to get away. She ran past one trash can, then another, chucking garbage at the Sentinels as she ran. But it didn't do any good. A giant hand came down, and some sort of electric shock shot out, striking her in the back, knocking her down.

Within seconds, she was on her feet again, running. But then a second burst hit her – harder than before, and longer. One of the Sentinels wrapped a giant hand around her. Taylor squirmed, punching and kicking as hard as she could. But it didn't do any good. The electricity from the Sentinel's blast continued to course through her body. Everything was getting fuzzy.

Through blurred vision, she thought she saw someone approach the Sentinels. Thought she heard a voice telling them to stop.

But it was probably just her imagination.

* * *

 **Ryden O' Lore, 17  
** **Warrensburg, MO**

 **13:16 CST**

"Did you see this?"

Ryden sighed, making his way over to where his father sat in front of the television. He wasn't sure why they even bothered watching the news anymore; it was almost always depressing. Sure enough, the station was showing footage of a bear tearing through the streets of Dallas, only to change back into a human – or, rather, a mutant – when caught by the Sentinels.

"Great," Ryden mumbled. Mutants like that only made it more difficult for ones like him – the ones who just wanted to live normal, peaceful lives. Mutants like that were the reason he and his father had spent the last few years moving from one place to another, trying to stay one step ahead of the Sentinels. Mutants who turned into bears and ran through city streets – mutants like that were the reason normal humans were afraid of them.

Ryden shook his head, plopping down on the sofa next to his father. He was more careful than that. Always had been. Ever since discovering his power three years ago, he'd been careful to keep it a secret. Careful not to give anything away. _He_ didn't start changing his skin to steel or bricks and start beating people up.

If someone started to beat _him_ up, on the other hand…

That was how he'd discovered his mutation, after all. One of the tougher guys at school had come after him, backed him into a steel fence. Ryden had gripped the fence, bracing himself for what was coming. But when the punch had come, it had been the other guy that ended up screaming, his hand broken.

But that had been an accident – and that had been three years ago. Since then, he'd been more careful. No one here in Warrensburg knew he was a mutant. No one here knew much of anything about him. It was better that way. The less people knew, the less he needed to trust them. And the less he trusted them, the less they could hurt him.

Just then, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ryden jumped up immediately, startled. Who would be knocking? His father headed to the door, opening it cautiously. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

"Mr. O' Lore?"

"Who's asking?"

"My name is Francine Temple. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I need to speak with your son."

Ryden frantically turned the television off. "Why? I'm not a mutant." He didn't sound as confident as he'd hoped, though.

The woman – apparently Francine – simply shrugged. "Then I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. Why don't you come with me, and we'll get it all cleared up."

Ryden glanced at his father, who stood motionless, helpless to do anything. Ryden shrugged. "Fine. Let's go."

Once he was out the door, however, he ran. He couldn't help it. What else was there to do? But as soon as he took off, something grabbed him. A giant hand. Sentinels. Ryden wriggled in the Sentinel's grasp. "Let me go!"

The woman nodded. "It will. In a moment. But I think you can stop pretending not to be a mutant now."

Ryden grit his teeth as he looked down. In his panic, his skin had taken on the Sentinel's color and texture. "Fine!" he shouted back. "I'm a mutant. What do you want with me?" But the woman simply shook her head.

"It's not about what I want."

* * *

 **Rachel Adams, 19  
** **Sheridan, WY**

 **16:02 MST**

She didn't need her powers to see that the woman didn't want to do this.

Rachel took a step back as the woman, who had introduced herself as Francine, beckoned towards the door. "I don't want any trouble, Rachel. Just come with me, and everything will be okay."

A lie. An obvious lie. She had thought, when the woman had arrived at their door, that maybe the government simply wanted to register her. It was only a matter of time, after all, before someone found out that she was a mutant. But Francine's emotions were far too conflicted for something as simple as signing a few papers and registering as a mutant. What, exactly, she _did_ want with her, Rachel couldn't tell.

Because whatever other emotions Francine was feeling were clearly overwhelmed by a deep regret. She didn't want to be here. Didn't want to be doing this. But, for some reason, she felt she had no choice.

And Rachel knew she didn't, either, even as her brother Blake stepped between her and the door, blocking Francine. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with you, lady. Do you have a warrant? Are you arresting her?"

"No. I'm not the police. I'm—"

"I don't care _who_ you are. She has rights. You can't just come in here and take her away like a—"

Like a what? An animal? A _mutant_? Her mother and brothers didn't know about her abilities. She'd always been perceptive, always been a good judge of character, but that had never been enough to raise anyone's suspicions.

"—a criminal," Blake finished. "She didn't do anything!"

Francine shook her head. "I know. And I'm sorry. But she needs to come with me, or—"

"I'll go," Rachel said softly. Black turned, startled, but Rachel was already walking towards the door. "Please. Just leave my family alone."

Francine hadn't meant for her words to be a threat. But she couldn't hide the fact that the Sentinels were waiting outside, ready to tear the house apart if she refused to come. She couldn't do that to her family. Couldn't risk their lives. If the government wanted her, they would get her – one way or the other. But she could keep her family safe.

"Of course," Francine agreed readily. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."

That much was definitely true. But it was just as obvious that people _would_ get hurt before this – whatever this was – was over. "Then why are you doing this?" Rachel asked as Francine led her to a car.

"It's my job. I…"

Rachel took a step closer, surprised by the emotions washing over her. "Why are you afraid?"

"I'm not."

But she was. Francine was terrified. But not of Rachel. Maybe not even of the fact that she was a mutant. She was afraid of the helplessness she felt. Rachel shook her head as she got into the car. What right did Francine have to be afraid? She wasn't the one whose family had been threatened. She wasn't the mutant who was now in the government's hands.

What was she so afraid of?

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 42  
** **16:37 MST**

She could see what Nicholas was trying to do.

Francine clenched her fists tightly as she, Reese, Taylor, Ryden, and Rachel boarded the plane that would take them to Alaska. Nicholas had given her relatively easy assignments. Mutants who he thought would either come quietly or be easy for the Sentinels to apprehend.

But he'd also taken care to assign her some of the older contestants. Mutants who would be able to defend themselves in the arena. Or maybe mutants who wouldn't remind her of her own twin daughters, who had just turned thirteen. These were older teens. Young adults. Maybe Nicholas thought that made it okay.

But it didn't. Because it wasn't the mutants' age that reminded her of Jessie and Jane. It was their innocence. Their love for their families. Their desire to live normal lives.

Normal lives. Francine swallowed hard. Her life would never be normal again. She hadn't told her own family exactly what she was doing in Alaska. They thought she was working to improve the Sentinels' technology. And while that was certainly part of what she was doing for the MAAB, she couldn't bear the thought of telling them about the rest.

The rest. The fact that she and the others were about to be responsible for the deaths of twenty-nine mutants. They could try to frame it differently. They could place the blame on the mutants for killing each other. On mutantkind in general for making the Games a necessity.

But they weren't necessary. Not really. Nicholas may have convinced most of the MAAB and even the president that the Games were needed to control dangerous mutants. But these mutants had been leading perfectly normal lives until the government had come along. Until _she_ had come along.

Francine leaned back in her seat as the plane took off. It was too late now. Too late to help these four. They were going into the arena. They were probably going to die. There was nothing she could do to save them. Nothing she could do to change what Nicholas and the others had planned.

What _she_ had helped to plan. It had been her research, after all, that had led to the development of the collars that they would use to control the mutants' abilities. She still had four of them in her briefcase. When she had designed them, she'd wanted to use them to help keep dangerous criminals in custody – prevent them from using their abilities to escape and wreak more havoc. It had seemed like a better solution than killing those who couldn't be contained.

But this … she had never imagined them being used like this. Used on teenagers whose only crime was being born a mutant. Francine closed her eyes. A few differences in a few genes, and her own children could have been born mutants. They could have been chosen for these Games, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing she could do about it.

Francine took a deep breath. She was responsible for this. She had never meant for it to go this far, but it had. She had been blind. She had been naive. And now she was going to make up for it.

She _had_ to make up for it.

* * *

" _Most people will never know anything beyond what they see with their own two eyes."_


	8. Chosen a Side

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games or X-Men.

 **Note:** Thank you to _Tear That Cherry Out_ , _upsettomcat42_ , _DustyQuintessence_ , and _LokiThisIsMadness_ for Diana, Rosalind, Ky, and Simon, respectively.

* * *

 **Chosen a Side**

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 57**

 **March 15th, 08:54 EST**

She couldn't stop asking whether or not this would actually work.

Lillian shook her head as she made her way through the Cincinnati streets, already full of people milling to and fro. Hundreds of ordinary people. Thousands. But how many of them weren't as ordinary as they seemed? How many of them were mutants?

How many of them would kill her if they knew what she was planning?

Maybe not as many as one might think. As far as her research had been able to determine, mutants weren't usually any more or less violence-prone than their human counterparts. It only seemed that way because when they _did_ turn violent, they could do a lot more damage with a lot less effort. _That_ was what made them dangerous.

It was that research, she knew, that had initially earned her the attention of the MAAB. Her assertion that mutants – as a whole – behaved essentially like ordinary humans … well, it was controversial, to say the least. Most humans preferred to think of mutants as a completely different species, with their own behaviors and social norms. But mutants were, as a whole, raised by humans, taught by humans, conditioned by humans.

But how would they behave when they were removed from that environment?

It was that uncertainty that had led to questions about their whole endeavor. But those questions only made her more curious, more determined to find the answers. Would mutants still behave with human predictability when they were left to their own devices, rather than surrounded by human constructs? Alvin kept assuring her that they would, but that wasn't exactly his field…

Well, it was and it wasn't. Making predictions based on probabilities – that was certainly his field. But behavior – that was hers. Together, they had designed the perfect arena for their test, the perfect conditions, the perfect stimuli. So when the time had come to vote on the Games, she hadn't hesitated. She had to know. Besides, it would be a shame for all that time and effort to go to waste.

Which was why it had been all the more surprising when Alvin had voted against the Games. Maybe she should have seen that coming. He had certainly enjoyed the theoretical aspect of designing the Games, but when it came to actually putting those theories into practice … well, he was a mathematician. A theorist. She was a scientist. She needed to see the results of the experiment in practice – not just as a theory on paper – in order to be satisfied.

And, soon enough, she would have her answers.

* * *

 **Diana Pierri, 17  
** **Cincinnati, OH**

 **08:59 EST**

She couldn't help staring as the Sentinel came closer.

Diana tried to look away. Tried to ignore the robot as she, Lucia, and Freya made their way towards the mall. For the past couple months, there had been more reported sightings of Sentinels in the city. She'd even seen one or two from a distance. But never this close.

 _They're not here for you. You haven't done anything wrong._ Still, Diana couldn't help picking up her pace. "Hey, slow down!" Lucia called, and Diana reluctantly obliged, glancing back at the Sentinel. Lucia followed her gaze, then shook her head. "Don't worry; they're just looking for muties. Nothing to worry about."

 _Just looking for muties._ Diana forced a smile and nodded. None of her friends knew she was a mutant. No one outside her family knew. It wasn't exactly a _secret_ ; they'd just never asked, and she'd never had any reason to tell them. Any reason to tell anyone, really. It wasn't as if her power was something that might accidentally hurt them.

At worst, her power was a slight invasion of privacy. But usually it wasn't even that, because her parents and little brother knew she could do it. And it wasn't as if she went snooping around their dreams for secrets. Dreams didn't work like that. They were connected to a person's thoughts, maybe, but they were so sporadic and unpredictable that it would be impossible to know what the person was actually thinking and what was simply a figment of their imagination. The lines were so blurry, she usually didn't even try to work out where conscious thought ended and dreaming began.

"Diana Pierri?"

Diana whirled around, startled, to face a curly-haired woman in a dark blue suit. Lucia and Freya stopped, too, surprised. Not by the woman, but by the Sentinel standing directly behind her. Diana took a step back. _You didn't do anything wrong._ "Yes?"

"I'm Dr. Lillian Stowe. You need to come with me."

Diana clenched her fists tightly, but her hands were still shaking. "What did I do?"

It was Freya who stepped in – stepped between her and the woman. Between her and the Sentinel. "You didn't do anything. She's got the wrong person." She shook her head. "Shouldn't you be off looking for mutant criminals or something?"

The woman smiled a little. "Half-right, young lady. I'm looking for mutants, though I'll admit your friend hasn't done anything particularly criminal."

Freya raised an eyebrow as she put the pieces together. "Wait … Di, You're a mutant?"

Diana bit her lip, but then nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground. Freya took a moment to process that, but then laid a hand firmly on Diana's shoulder. "Run," she whispered, then whirled around and decked Lillian squarely in the jaw.

Startled, Diana took off immediately. But before she could get more than a few feet, a giant hand closed around her. "Let me go!" she called, flailing as much as she could. But the Sentinel held her firmly.

"What do you want with her?" Lucia demanded, but Lillian didn't answer. The Sentinel simply turned, carrying Diana in the other direction.

Diana squirmed, trying to catch one last glimpse of her friends. "What about my family? You can't just take me without telling them—"

Lillian shook her head. "Don't worry; they'll find out soon enough."

But the tone in which she said it didn't make Diana feel any better.

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14  
** **Houghton, MI**

 **11:12 EST**

She couldn't help a feeling of dread when she saw the Sentinel.

Rosalind clung tightly to her mother's hand as the five of them – her mother and father, older sister Elizabeth, younger brother Henry, and her – huddled together inside their tent. She usually avoided physical contact, but her mother was one of the few people she trusted herself around. She couldn't control her mutation, but the fact that her mother was aware of it would be enough to keep her safe.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently back. "It'll be all right," she whispered. But Rosalind already knew that was a lie. They had come to the lake hoping for a nice, peaceful weekend – away from home, away from the reminders of everything that was going on in the country.

In the world, really. The mutant phenomenon wasn't unique to the United States. But it was no secret that their country had taken the lead in reacting to what many in the government referred to as "the mutant problem." The very thought of the phrase made Rosalind's skin crawl. She wasn't a problem to be solved. Maybe her _mutation_ was. But she was a person.

Her family had always been very understanding. In fact, it was her mother who had figured it out, after Rosalind had accidentally hooked Elizabeth with a fishing hook during one of their family outings. Elizabeth hadn't even noticed until her mother had pointed out that she was bleeding. It was their mother who had taken a sample of Rosalind's blood and brought it to her lab for testing, revealing that she was, in fact, a mutant.

Even then, she'd kept the information to herself – until two years later, when Rosalind had accidentally pushed one of her friends out of a tree. The boy had broken his legs, but felt no pain – and even tried to stand up. Rosalind had been horrified when her mother had told her the truth, and had done her best to avoid physical contact ever since. But apparently that hadn't been enough…

Rosalind huddled close to her mother as the Sentinel's footsteps came closer. The footsteps stopped just outside their tent, a shadow falling over them. Everyone held their breath. But it was clear that hiding wasn't going to do any good.

"Rosalind Hennrikus?" A woman's voice. The zipper on the tent began to unzip. "Rosalind, I need you to come with me."

"What do you want with her?" her mother demanded. "She hasn't hurt anyone."

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true. But it wasn't her mutation that had hurt them. It was her mutation that had kept them from feeling any pain. But apparently that difference didn't matter much to the government. A woman in a blue suit knelt at the door to the tent. "This will be easier for everyone if you come quietly, young lady."

Rosalind swallowed hard. The woman's words were peaceful, but the Sentinel standing behind her certainly wasn't. If she refused – if she tried to run – they would get her, anyway. And they might even hurt her family in the process.

Rosalind took a deep breath and crawled out of the tent. Her family followed, protesting. But Rosalind shook her head. "I'll be fine. They probably just want me to register or something."

It wasn't true. But it was enough to keep them calm. And maybe that was the best she could hope for. Whatever happened now, at least her family was safe.

That was all she could do for them.

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18  
** **Umnak Island, AK**

 **16:45 AKST**

He couldn't help feeling relieved that at least their parents weren't around.

Ky glanced over at his younger sister, Quinn, as the two of them ran. Away from the Sentinels – and away from their house. Whatever happened, at least their parents would be safe. The Sentinels had no reason to go after them; as far as he knew, their parents weren't mutants.

Then again, lately it didn't seem like the Sentinels needed much of a _reason_ to do anything. After all, it wasn't as if he and Quinn were hurting anyone. Sure, there was that one time she'd accidentally burned him with one of her beams of light. He'd lied – said that he'd been burned by a geyser. He'd protected her then. Just like she'd protected him. Helped him keep his secret about what had really happened when they'd caught a burglar sneaking into their house while their parents were away. She'd kept his secret then. They'd always protected each other.

And they would protect each other.

Ky turned to face the Sentinels, sending a tendril of darkness shooting in their direction. Quinn stopped running long enough to send a wisp of auroric light towards them. They'd been practicing – weaving the darkness and the light together, creating pictures and shadows in the sky. Their powers had always complemented each other.

But, right now, neither seemed to be doing much damage to the Sentinels. The robots continued flying towards them, unharmed aside from a little scorched paint. "Get behind me!" Ky called, and, to his relief, Quinn did. If they wanted to get her, they would have to go through him.

One of the Sentinels reached down, its giant hand closing around Ky's waist, pinning his arms at his sides. A few wisps of shadow made their way from his hands, but not enough to really do any harm. "Run!" he called as loudly as he could.

Quinn did. And, to his surprise, the Sentinels did nothing. They were letting her go. Why? Why, when they had both of them, would they simply let her escape? The Sentinel lowered him towards the ground, where a woman stood, watching Quinn fade into the distance. "I don't understand," Ky insisted as the woman slipped a thin metal collar around his neck. "Why wouldn't you want both of us?"

The woman shook her head. "She's not on my list. You are. Killing her wouldn't do anyone any good. It certainly wouldn't help her. And you … as long as she's alive, you have a compelling reason not to get yourself killed."

The Sentinel let him go, and Ky staggered to his feet. "What are you talking about?"

The woman shook her head a little. "It's not a difficult concept, really. Your sister is safe. But if you ever want to see her again, you'll do exactly as I say."

Ky clenched his teeth, focusing as hard as he could. But, for the first time since he and his sister had discovered their powers, nothing happened. He tried again, but, still, the shadows wouldn't respond. "What did you do to me?"

"The collars keep your power in check – for the moment, at least. We'll deactivate them, but only once everything's ready."

"Everything? I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to. You don't need to understand right now. You just need to do as you're told. Can you do that, Ky?"

It was all he could do to keep from punching the woman in the face. But that wouldn't do anyone any good. He didn't like following orders. But if it was the only way to see his sister again…

Ky nodded a little. "I can do that."

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16  
** **Fairbanks, AK**

 **20:11 AKST**

Sometimes he couldn't help wondering whether the whole world had gone mad.

Simon shook his head as he took a seat in the bleachers beside his friends Natalia, Bruce, and Rebecca. Bruce had been lucky enough to score them some tickets to one of the Nanooks' last home games, but Simon couldn't help getting a bit distracted by the conversations taking place. Apparently, the Sentinels had been busy, arresting multiple 'mutant criminals' over the course of the day.

Simon passed Rebecca a bag of popcorn, trying to focus on the game instead. But it was always hard – trying to focus in such a large group. He could hear _everything_. Most of it was a jumble, but he could make out bits and pieces. Enough to tell that people were scared. One man was listening to the news on his iPod across the arena. Simon couldn't see the screen, but he could hear the report – a report of mutants in Alaska.

Simon turned his attention back to the game, trying to ignore the news. Mutants in Alaska. Well, maybe it was only a matter of time. For the most part, even Alaska's second-largest city was considered pretty remote. It took a while for trends to catch on, and even the most recent wave of anti-mutant sentiments hadn't sunk in as deep here. But it was only a matter of time.

Simon stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. It hadn't happened yet. And that was all that mattered. He could still walk around the city without fearing for his life, which was more than some mutants could say. He was grateful for that much, at least. His mutation wasn't really something that was noticeable, as long as he was careful not to let people know that he was eavesdropping. Even his parents and his closest friends had no idea he was a mutant.

It wasn't that he was particularly afraid to tell them. But what would be the point? It wasn't as if it would change anything. His power wasn't anything dangerous. So he could hear really well. So what? Aside from organizations that might want to recruit him to spy on their enemies, what was his power really good for?

And he didn't want to be a government spy. He was quite happy with his life the way it was. His family. His friends. Maybe his life wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good.

Suddenly, something caught his attention – something outside the arena. Footsteps – loud and heavy. Something big was coming. Simon took another sip of his drink, trying to ignore it. Whatever it was, it didn't have anything to do with him.

Did it?

Then he could see it – a Sentinel, standing outside the arena. Simon froze. Maybe they weren't here for him. Maybe they were just doing some sort of security sweep. Was that normal? He'd never seen a Sentinel before. But maybe they were just here to patrol the area…

"Simon Herrick?" asked a voice behind him. Simon turned, startled. A woman stood behind him. "You need to come with me."

"Now? But it's the middle of the game. We're up by—"

"Mr. Herrick, there are two ways this can end. Either you come quietly, or you make a scene. Both scenarios end the same way; you're coming with us. Your choice."

Simon barely caught the end of her sentence as he leapt out of the bleachers and rushed out into the crowd. But, even as he did, a giant hand smashed through the door in front of him and quickly closed around him. "Let me go!" Simon called, but it did no good. The woman had been right.

He'd never had a chance.

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 57  
** **22:03 AKST**

She couldn't help a sigh of relief as the plane finally landed.

Nicholas was there to greet her as she stepped off the plane. "Rough day?"

Lillian shook her head. "Just long. The Sentinels did most of the work."

Nicholas nodded. "That's what they're here for. No troubles, then?"

"The Nanooks need a new door for their hockey arena."

"I'll see to it."

"Is everyone else back?"

"Everyone except Alvin. He'll probably be in rather late. But everyone else, yes. No major problems." He hesitated a moment, looking her over. "You're having doubts."

"Not about our decision. About _them_. The mutants. Do you really think they'll fight?"

Nicholas smiled a little. "You're the psychologist. You tell me."

"Teenagers are just so unpredictable. If we were using adults, I'd be more certain. Adults would have more at stake – more to live for. Families. Children. More of a reason to fight."

Nicholas nodded a little. This was a discussion the board had already had – more than once. She hadn't been the only one to raise concerns about the fact that they were using children for the Games. Her concerns were purely scientific, but Francine had been opposed to the idea of using children in general. And Alvin … she was never quite sure what he was thinking. He had seemed as interested in the concept of the Games as she was, until it actually came to voting on it.

And now he was the only one who hadn't reported back.

Lillian shook the thought from her head. He would be back. And if he didn't return, the Sentinels would do their job. There was nothing to be worried about. They had all made their decision. The Games would go forward.

She would just have to hope that everything would go as planned. Because if it didn't – if their experiment failed – the consequences could be disastrous. If the mutants refused to fight, the government could end up looking weak and foolish. If some of them managed to escape…

But that wouldn't happen. They had taken precautions. The mutants wouldn't be able to escape. And they wouldn't be able to avoid fighting each other forever. Maybe there were some of them who wouldn't fight, but, in a group of thirty emotional teenagers, there were bound to be a few who would crack. A few who would get the fighting started.

After that, everything else would fall into place.

* * *

" _At least I've chosen a side."_


	9. Define Our Fate

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games

 **Note:** Thank you to _Cheive_ , _MornieGalad Baggins_ , _li'l fat necrosis_ , _jakey121_ , and _Heartwood98_ for Ben, Tariq, Monet, Piper, and Cyrene, respectively, and for being so patient as you waited to see your tributes.

I've determined that if I do another one of these (whoa, Elim, hold up, you just made it through the reapings), I'm definitely finding a different format for the reapings. Because although this worked - mostly - a few contestants, I feel, fell victim to what I'll call the Fundamental Problem of Reapings. That is, it's hard to tell much about a character when you're only seeing them at their most confused and frightened. I generally deal with this problem via a goodbye scene, but with the reapings and the goodbyes sort of lumped into one here - along with the lack of train rides and the necessity of adequately explaining each contestant's power - I think I'm going to try something else next time. Whether that's some sort of pre-reaping chapter, longer reapings, adding a plane ride chapter, or something else entirely, I'm not sure yet. Just food for thought. Suggestions/constructive criticism/opinions in general are appreciated, as this is my first foray into a non-Panem Hunger Games.

Anyway.

Since that concludes our collection chapters, if you have any suggestions for allies, that would be fantastic. If you'd like to hold off until you see a little more of the contestants, that's fine, but any input now would be appreciated. Since there are no train rides, we'll move right into training next chapter, and that's usually when alliances start to form. I'm currently planning on six training chapters - two for each day - but that could change if I come up with something I like better. After training, there will be some sort of parade/interview/celebration, the exact nature of which ... I haven't decided yet. I'm starting to see why a lot of modern day AU SYOTs fizzle. A lot of the structure that a normal SYOT has - reapings, train rides, chariot rides, training, training scores, interviews - is just ... gone, and I'll admit I'm making a lot of this up as I go. More than usual. The lack of structure is fun - just a bit jarring. But don't worry - the story _will_ be completed. A Lannister always finishes his stories ... er, wrong fandom.

Anyway, I'll stop babbling now. Here are our last five contestants.

* * *

 **Define Our Fate**

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 74**

 **06:37 EST**

He was getting too old for this.

Hans sighed as he got off the bus. It was this time of year when he wouldn't mind trading his native city of Dubuque, Iowa for the Miami streets he found himself on now. Not because of the size of the city – which was almost mind-boggling – but because of the temperature. He'd been in favor of the Games, but still didn't quite understand why Lillian had insisted they should take place in _Alaska._

But he knew better than to say so. Knew better than to stick his nose into his fellow scientists' specialties. Creating the perfect climate for their study was Lillian's area of expertise. Her study of mutant behavior was what had caught his eye in the first place, after Nicholas had coaxed him out of retirement. It was Lillian who had been tasked with creating the perfect environment for their test. His experience lay elsewhere.

In fact, his real task had little to do with the Games themselves. The Games were only a means to and end. And that end was control. Mutants needed to be controlled, if any real progress was going to be made.

Real progress. People had different ideas, of course, about what 'real progress' meant with regard to the mutant problem. The Games weren't a permanent solution. Killing twenty-nine mutant children – that wouldn't solve anything. Nor, in fact, would killing every known mutant, because there were non-mutants who carried the mutant gene, which they could pass to their children, or their grandchildren, and so on. No, killing wasn't the answer. It wasn't a permanent solution. The real answer lay in the ability to reverse mutations themselves.

They were a long way from that, of course. The collars Francine had created could inhibit mutants' powers, but they had yet to determine how long that effect would last. And the collars did nothing to change the mutants' genetic structure. They were still mutants. They would still pass along the mutant gene. As long as they wore their collars, their powers could be kept in check, but collaring an entire portion of the population wasn't the answer, either. There had to be a better solution. A more permanent solution.

But if they were to have any hope of finding it, they needed more research. And in order to accomplish that research, they needed to study mutants in a controlled setting without the danger of backlash from the public. The Games could accomplish that – or at least acclimate people to the idea that the mutant problem needed careful study and observation, not just blind fear and intolerance. It wasn't the mutants' fault, after all, that they'd simply been born into the wrong group. It wasn't their fault that their very existence threatened the human race.

Despite the fact that it wasn't their fault, however, it _was_ a fact that humanity was being threatened. If the mutant population kept growing, the history of evolution pointed to only one end: the extinction of the human race. Survival of the fittest. And, for the moment, at least, mutants were the fitter race.

So they would have to find a way to change that.

* * *

 **Bennett Lyons, 19  
** **Miami, FL**

 **06:43 EST**

It was way too early for this.

Ben groaned a little, rolling over slowly in his bed as the knocking continued. Who would be knocking before seven on a Saturday? In the back of his mind, he managed to register a little relief that at least he'd remembered to lock the door to his room the night before. So whoever was knocking, at least they hadn't been able to just walk right in.

Ben slowly rolled out of bed, directing a little more warmth into the heating pad around his chest before slipping on a shirt, wincing at his bruised ribs. He should never have let his Michael and Patrick talk him into goofing around last night. Sure, it had only been a game of ultimate frisbee, but he'd gotten too competitive and taken a dive he shouldn't have. At least it had happened in the off-season; he'd have plenty of time to heal before football practice started in the summer. But, still, it was a nuisance.

Slowly, Ben made his way to the door to his dorm room, muttering a little under his breath. When he opened the door, however, he was surprised to find an older man in a suit, rather than a few of his friends. "Can I help you?" Ben asked suspiciously. Maybe the man had gotten lost on his way to visit his … grandchildren, maybe? He certainly looked old enough to have grandchildren in college.

"Bennett Lyons?" the man asked.

"Ben." Only his parents called him Bennett. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm with the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Can you come with me?"

 _A few questions._ Ben tensed. Did they know? Or were they just conducting a survey or something? Getting people's opinions about mutants on campus? Better to keep it cool. "Sure." He slipped on his shoes and followed Dr. Brenner out of the dorm.

As soon as he stepped outside, however, he could see that Dr. Brenner was lying. If he'd just wanted to ask a few questions, he wouldn't have brought three Sentinels. The few students who were out on the campus lawn this early on a Saturday were staring at the giant robots in shock. Ben clenched his fists, glancing over at Dr. Brenner, who nodded to the Sentinels.

That was all the information Ben needed. Immediately, he raised his hands, sending a stream of heat towards the Sentinels before taking off in the other direction. The heat, however, didn't even slow the robots down. Ben clenched his fists tightly as he ran, fighting the pain in his chest. What did they want with him?

 _Okay. Okay, just think._ But he didn't have time to think. As soon as he ducked behind the library building, trying to catch his breath, the Sentinels caught up to him. One of them reached out, a giant hand closing around Ben's waist. Ben couldn't help a shout as its grip tightened on his broken ribs. He concentrated, trying to melt the robot's skin, but he couldn't think clearly enough. Something snapped around his neck. Everything was growing dark. Ben closed his eyes.

Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22  
** **Richmond, VA**

 **09:20 EST**

It was too early for Yara to be knocking.

Tariq glanced at the clock as the knocking continued. It was later than he'd thought. He'd begun his morning meditation more than two hours ago. But everything had been so peaceful. The stillness and quiet was always so inviting. It would be so easy to stay there, motionless, for hours. Days. Once, he'd slipped into a completely motionless state for more than a week. His family had assumed he was dead.

Most of them still thought he was.

Tariq shook the thought from his head as he rose to answer the door. Someday, he would find the rest of them and tell them. His father was the only one who knew he was still alive, and he had forbidden Tariq from returning home, assuming he was a ghost. Then again, they had buried him, after all…

Tariq opened the door cautiously, revealing an old man in a suit. "Tariq Qasim?" the man asked.

Tariq nodded. "May I help you?"

"I'm Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. I need to ask you a few questions."

"Have I done something wrong, sir?" He'd figured out a while ago that his lapses into a deep meditative state – so deep that his heart rate and breathing were undetectable – were the result of his mutation, but surely the government had more important mutants to worry about. More dangerous powers to contend with. As far as his own safety was concerned, his power was a mixed bag. It had saved his life during a firefight back in Syria, but it had also gotten him buried alive. But he couldn't imagine it being a danger to others.

Dr. Brenner shook his head. "Not at all. Just a few questions, a quick test – nothing to be worried about."

Tariq hesitated. Something was off. Something about the man's tone of voice – or maybe the Sentinel standing behind him. But he hadn't done anything wrong. He hadn't hurt anyone. Whatever they wanted to ask him, he had nothing to hide. Finally, he nodded. "What sort of test?"

"Completely harmless," the doctor assured him. "We're simply interested in the extent of your mutation – and how mutants interact with each other."

Tariq perked up a little. The idea of meeting others like him – other mutants – was certainly an inviting one. He'd always wanted to meet others, but it wasn't exactly socially acceptable to simply ask someone else if they were a mutant. But if the government was bringing mutants together, maybe they had a plan. Maybe they were hoping to form some sort of group. A gathering place where mutants could meet each other and interact freely – without having to contend with the public's judgment and persecution. If he could be part of something like that, it would certainly be a worthwhile endeavor. Tariq smiled a little as he followed the man down the street.

"What more can you tell me?"

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23  
** **Wilmington, DE**

 **10:13 EST**

What had they done wrong?

Monet couldn't help staring when they saw the Sentinels outside the dance studio. They'd seen Sentinels from a distance, but only in the city – and then only from a distance. This was different. A shiver crept down their spine as the door opened and a man stepped into the studio. "Monet Amit?"

Monet froze. Everyone was looking at them, making it pretty obvious to the man who he was looking for. It would be easy to run – out the back door and down the street – but they'd seen the news lately. Mutants who ran from the Sentinels – it didn't end well. Better not to make a fuss. Besides, the man clearly already knew who they were. It wouldn't take him long to find them.

Monet took a step forward. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Dr. Hans Brenner. I'm with the—"

"Mutant Affairs Advisory Board?" Monet finished. Their best friend Haven was a political junkie and could probably name every member of every board in the country by heart.

The man smiled a little. "Then you already know."

"Know what?"

The man gestured to the door. "Walk with me." Hesitantly, Monet followed. "We're doing a documentary on mutants, and your name came up. We're going to show mutants living their lives – going about their everyday activities – in an effort to educate the public. To show them that there's no need to fear the mutant population as a whole, if you will."

Monet's eyes lit up. "And you want me to…"

"Participate, yes. I know it's difficult – coming forward as a mutant in front of the whole country. But if we can get a few young, talented people such as yourself to step up and share their stories, then I believe it would do a lot of good for mutants as a whole. What do you say?"

Monet stared, shocked. Haven was always going on about how the MAAB was out to get mutants, how the media was determined to paint them in a bad light. But this – this was the chance of a lifetime. And not just for them – for all mutants. Since they'd discovered their power, they'd been trying to hide it. But this … this was a chance to come forward. To be who they were without shame or fear. Wasn't that worth it?

Monet smiled. "What do you need me to do?"

"We start filming next week. I know it's short notice, but if you could come to Alaska with me…"

Alaska! Monet nodded excitedly. "That sounds great! Just let me go home and pack a few things—"

"That won't be necessary. I assure you, we'll have everything you need."

Monet hesitated. That sounded a little fishy. But if the man had wanted to harm them, he could have. There was a Sentinel standing right there. The robot hadn't made a move against them. He wasn't forcing them to come; he was asking. Monet smiled.

"When do we leave?"

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17  
** **Fall River, MA**

 **11:47 EST**

It was never too hard when there weren't any distractions.

Piper concentrated, her eyes on the clock above the stove, as time slowed down. The clock stayed fixed at 11:47:07, but a blurrier version counted forward. One second. Then another. A blurry version of her parents kept eating their lunch. Nothing she couldn't ignore well enough to keep her power going.

Suddenly, the door opened. A man stepped in. Behind him was the outline of a giant robot. A Sentinel. The blurry outline of her father leapt up. Started arguing with the man, while her mother stepped between the man and a blurry version of Piper. Her father threw a punch. The Sentinel reached in and knocked her mother aside. Then it reached for her—

Piper let out a startled shout as the vision snapped. "What is it?" her mother asked.

But Piper was already hurrying towards the door. Without a word, she opened it, revealing an old man in a suit. Piper held up her hands, her voice shaky. "I'll come. I'll do it – I'll come. Just leave my family alone."

Her parents were already standing up from the table, her father striding towards the man in the suit, her mother moving to protect her. "What do you mean?" her mother asked. "Where does he want you to go?"

Piper swallowed hard. She didn't know. She couldn't see that far – only a few seconds at a time. Sometimes a minute or two. She couldn't see what was going to happen to her. But she knew what would happen to _them_ if they tried to interfere.

So she stepped quickly between her father and the man in the suit. "Please. Don't do anything…" She trailed off.

"Don't do anything _what_?" her father insisted. "Piper, what's going on?"

Piper shook her head, fighting back the tears in her eyes as she threw her arms around her father one last time and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Don't do anything that'll get you hurt." And before they could say another word, she was making her way out the door.

"I'm Dr. Brenner," the man offered as they made their way down the street towards a parked car. "And you must be Piper."

Piper barely managed a nod. Where was he taking her? She wanted desperately to know, but, at the same time, she didn't dare ask. Because the Sentinel in her vision had been willing to hurt her parents in order to get to her. Which meant that, whatever they wanted her for, they hadn't expected her to come quietly. Chances were, she didn't _want_ to know.

Piper clenched her fists tightly as they walked. She could run. Maybe. Maybe she would be able to get away. But only for a little while. And where would she go? No matter where she went – no matter who she took shelter with – she would be putting people in danger. No. It was better for everyone else if she simply went quietly.

But was it better for her?

Piper swallowed hard. It didn't matter what was better for her – not right now. Once she was safely away from her family, then she could worry about what was going to happen to her. Right now, it was enough to know that they would be safe. But one thought wouldn't leave the back of her mind.

If it weren't for her, they wouldn't have been danger in the first place.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16  
** **Boston, MA**

 **12:16 EST**

It was too early for her parents to be home.

Cyrene made her way hesitantly to the door as the knocking continued. Who would be knocking? Her parents wouldn't knock; they would just come in. Myranda wouldn't knock; she would just text to say she was coming over. Maybe it was someone who wanted to talk to one of her parents, but surely anyone who knew them knew they wouldn't be home…

Cyrene glanced out the peephole, only to take a step back as a giant hand ripped the door away. Cyrene couldn't help a scream, and, immediately, her fear-clone appeared. "Distract it!" Cyrene called as she raced for the back door. But, even as she did, she could see her fear-clone cowering in a corner.

That wasn't going to do any good. She flung the back door open, only to find a second Sentinel. "Damn it!" Cyrene muttered. "Help me!" Her rage-clone, Rana, appeared, immediately hurling profanities at the Sentinels as Cyrene ran. But the screaming did nothing to stop the Sentinels. One of them reached down and grabbed Rana.

For a moment, Cyrene panicked. Ever since she'd realized that she could summon clones of herself, she'd been careful. She'd never put them in any real danger before. What would happen if the Sentinel crushed one of her clones? Where was her fear-clone? Was it already gone? No. No, she could still feel it inside the house, cowering from the Sentinels. Why didn't it do something useful?

But she only had a moment to wonder, because the Sentinel reached down again, snatching her up before she had a chance to get any farther. Cyrene wriggled in the Sentinel's grasp, and she could see that Rana was doing the same. But neither of them could escape the giant robots.

Just then, to her relief, the first Sentinel came into view, clutching her fear-clone tightly in its hand. A man stood beside the Sentinel, smiling a little, satisfied. "Impressive," he admitted. "When I read your file, I wasn't sure if your clones just appeared randomly, or if you could actually summon them. Nice to see that you have some control over when they appear – even if you don't seem to have much control over what they _do_ once they're here."

Cyrene clenched her fists. "Why do you care? What do you _want_?"

The man shook his head. "Right now, what I want is simple. I just want you to absorb your clones again so we can get going."

"Why?"

The man shrugged. "Because the car's almost full as it is, and the airplane's small. Two extra clones means less legroom for the rest of you."

"The rest of _who_? What's going on?"

"Absorb your clones again, and I'll explain."

Cyrene shook her head. "I have to be able to touch them in order to—"

The man nodded at the Sentinel. The robot held her closer to Rana, who was still shouting uselessly at the Sentinels. Cyrene reached out to touch Rana, absorbing her back into herself, then did the same with her fear-clone. "All right. Explain."

But the man simply shook his head as the Sentinel lowered her closer. Then he snapped a collar around her neck and nodded to the robot.

"Let's go."

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 74**

 **March 16th, 03:34 AKST**

It was way too early in the morning.

Hans shook his head as he made his way outside again into the brisk night air. Morning air. Whatever sort of air it technically was, it was way too cold. But the last of the planes had _finally_ arrived, and Nicholas had wanted them all present in person for a meeting.

Hans breathed a sigh of relief as the five of them – Alvin and the four mutants he had been tasked with retrieving – made their way off the plane, accompanied by a rather large dog. The four children were looking around sleepily, bewildered by their surroundings. Alvin gave the others a tired wave before showing the children to their rooms.

Their rooms. "Cells" might have been a more accurate description, but Mack kept insisting that they call them rooms. That was his job, of course. To make everything sound right. To make what they were doing sound at least a little more acceptable. But Hans was too tired for pleasantries.

So were the others, but they followed Nicholas to the meeting room and sat down around the table, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. "I'll keep this short," Nicholas promised when Alvin finally joined them. "Any difficulties?"

"Aside from some of us being utterly unable to keep to a schedule and failing to check in when ordered to?" Judah grumbled.

Nicholas smiled wearily. "Yes. Aside from that."

"And aside from an angry dog?" Alvin offered.

"An angry dog that you still saw fit to bring along," Nicholas pointed out. "Can't have been too vicious."

"My arm disagrees with you, but thanks for the concern." Alvin yawned. "Other than that, I think everything's proceeding according to plan – if not necessarily according to schedule."

Nicholas nodded. "Speaking of schedules, our three coaches have worked out a tentative training schedule for the next few days. They wanted to have some time to work with our contestants one-on-one and to let them train together in groups. Here's what they proposed; you can have a look over it once you're a bit more awake."

Hans nodded, glanced over it, and tucked it in his bag. What the mutants did over the next few days wasn't really his concern. Any sort of training they did now – it wasn't really going to help them once they were in the arena. It was just for show. To give them a sense of security, the illusion that they were prepared for what was coming.

It was a lie. They weren't prepared. How could they be? But if giving them a little training kept them – and their coaches – under control, then so be it.

It was Francine who spoke up. "What are all these numbers?"

"We gave them all numbers," Nicholas explained. "Easier to keep track of that way. The same numbers that are on their collars."

Alvin cocked an eyebrow. "These collars?" He produced four collars from inside his coat and tossed them on the table.

Judah rolled his eyes. "You didn't even use them?"

Alvin shrugged. "You gave them to us in case we needed them. I didn't."

"No wonder you got attacked by a dog," Lillian scoffed.

Hans shook his head. "This won't do. The other mutants could see those four and think they're getting special treatment. Either all of them wear the collars, or none of them do."

"That's absurd," Alvin muttered.

Nicholas shook his head. "In order for the experiment to be fair, the conditions must be the same for—"

Alvin chuckled a little. "Oh, _please_. Don't pretend you're interested in fairness. If you wanted everything to be fair, you would have sent the Sentinels after all thirty of them, instead of sending seven different people with seven different methods, seven different motives, seven different attitudes. This isn't about fairness; it's about _control._ "

Hans opened his mouth to object, but Nicholas held up a hand. "No. You're right, Alvin. It _is_ about control. And they need to know that we can control _all_ of them. So if _you_ won't do it, then I will." He picked up the four discarded collars, then glanced around at the rest of the group. "Anything else?"

No one spoke. Alvin yawned, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Nicholas shook his head. "All right, then. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

One by one, the others filed out of the room. Once they were alone, Hans turned to Alvin. "If you have something to say about the Games—"

"Nothing that I haven't already said."

"Then just do as you're told. It'll be over soon enough."

But even as he said it, he knew that wasn't true. If the Games went as planned, yes, they would be over. But they would be back. Year after year. Group after group of mutants, until they had the control they needed. It was a terrible price to pay, but if it ended up securing the safety and future of the human race, then it was worth it.

Wasn't it?

* * *

" _Countless choices define our fate."_


	10. Display

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** I got about three POVs into this chapter before realizing that I wasn't anywhere close to any actual training getting done. So I went ahead and changed course. I'm calling this day pre-training, and there will be three chapters of _that_ before the training chapters.

My apologies to everyone who was looking forward to training chapters right away, but this flowed a bit more naturally than jumping right into training.

* * *

 **Display**

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 26  
** **Coach**

 **07:23 AKST**

It was all about control.

Vincent paced back and forth in front of the room. He knew Ian and Maria were watching. Waiting to see what he would do. Whether he would go along with what Nicholas and Alvin had asked him to do.

Asked. That was a nice way of putting it. It hadn't really been a request. It had been an order. If they wanted to be able to give the contestants any sort of training, they had to go along with the way Nicholas wanted to do things. Which, at the moment, meant it would fall to _him_ to explain the conditions of the game they were about to participate in.

He could have asked one of the others to do it, of course. Could have passed the burden along to someone else. But, in the end, it was his. He had cast the deciding vote when they had been faced with the choice of whether or not to participate as coaches. The choice had been his. So the consequences should be his, as well.

Vincent turned his gaze to the rest of the room. Thirty chairs stood in three rows, each row labeled with a letter, each chair numbered from 1 to 10. All neat and orderly. But order wasn't the goal. The goal was control.

The goal had always been control.

Vincent's fingers found the collar around his own neck and traced over the symbols there. _V-0000_. For the most part, Nicholas had been content to keep their collars turned off. Their powers weren't anything particularly dangerous, after all. He could hear voices on the wind – and was always grateful when he did pick up a scrap of a thought that hadn't come from Nicholas, the other members of the MAAB, or their guards. But it wasn't as if he could summon a gust of wind to destroy the base – as much as he might want to.

Some of the contestants, however, had the power to do much more damage, which was why Nicholas had assured them that, once they entered the room, the more dangerous contestants' collars would be activated – for everyone's sake. In case they reacted badly to the news that they would be expected to kill each other in a few days.

Vincent took a deep breath as the contestants slowly startled to trickle into the room, each accompanied to the door by a guard or a member of the MAAB. Once they were inside the room, they quickly found their seats. Disoriented. Confused. Sleepy and jetlagged from the trip.

They had no idea what was about to happen.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She knew what was about to happen.

Penelope took a deep breath as she slid into the seat on the left end of the row marked with an _M_. She wasn't entirely sure what the letters meant, but it was clear they'd been divided into groups. For what purpose … well, that wasn't entirely clear. But the letters and numbers on their collars clearly corresponded to seats in the rows. Very neat and orderly. Very military.

Very familiar.

Was that what was happening? Did the government mean to train them, as they had trained her and her fellow mutants years ago? They had often trained in groups. Was that what the letters were? Penelope watched silently as the others figured it out. Took their designated places. Some were her age. Most seemed to be older. But none seemed older than their twenties or so.

A boy about her age took a seat beside her, fidgeting with the collar around his neck. "What's going on?" he whispered.

Penelope shook her head. "I don't know." And she didn't. Not entirely. But chances were, she knew more than he did. Because she had been in this position before. Trained before. She had been trying to get away from this life. But it seemed to follow her everywhere.

"Have a seat, please." The voice came from the front of the room. Three adults stood there, wearing the same blue-grey outfits that Penelope and the others had been given. The voice belonged to a man, little older than some of the trainees – if that was, indeed, what they were. Trainees. Students.

"Make me!" One of the boys stepped forward. An older boy – or perhaps a young man – maybe in his early twenties. He stood defiantly, his arms folded across his chest, as most of the others obediently took their seats.

Penelope held her breath as the man took a step towards the boy, who had clearly assumed that since the man appeared to be giving orders, he was the enemy. But he'd missed something important. Whoever these three were, they were wearing the same collars as the rest of them. They were prisoners – just as much as the thirty of them the Sentinels had brought.

The man, who had a _V_ on his collar, shook his head. "What's your name?"

"John."

"I'm Vincent. This is Maria, and this is Ian. And we're not going to make you sit down. We're not going to _make_ you do anything. We're not here to give orders. We're trying to help. So if you'd rather stand … well, that's fine by me. But you might _want_ to sit."

The boy remained standing. So did a few others in the back of the room. But most of the ones who hadn't already taken a seat did so, waiting. Waiting for the explanation that they hoped would be coming soon. An explanation. Or maybe orders. She had hoped, when she and Harper had broken out of their compound, that no one would ever giver her orders again.

It wasn't fair. But what right did she have to complain? At least she was still alive. Harper was dead. The Sentinels had…

Penelope shook the thought from her mind. She couldn't afford to think about that now. She had to pay attention. Had to soak in all the information she could. Because she couldn't shake the feeling that soon, her life would depend on it. So, silently, along with the others, she waited for an answer to her questions.

She just hoped she wouldn't have to wait long.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She couldn't stand waiting.

Piper drummed her fingers on her leg as the man introduced himself to the group – even though they'd already heard him give their names to John, who was still sulking in the back of the room. The man seemed nice enough, but he also didn't seem to be in a hurry to actually get to the _point_ of what he was talking about. They had all been split into groups. That much had been clear from the start. They were here to participate in some sort of experiment. Some sort of competition. That much, she'd been able to glean from the man's vague references.

She just wished he would get to the point.

His two colleagues – Ian and Maria – seemed to share his sentiments. But neither of them seemed eager to step in and explain what was going on, either. What was he trying to avoid saying? What would be _that_ bad?

And that was the worst of it – the idea that he might be hiding something even more frightening than _not_ knowing. Piper closed her eyes, trying to resist the urge to take a peek into the future. She'd never tried it with this many people around before. She had no idea how long she'd be able to hold onto the vision – if she could conjure it at all with so many distractions. But most of the people in the room were sitting still. There were lots of people, but little activity. So maybe…

It was worth a try. Piper opened her eyes. Concentrated. Everything slowed, but a blurry vision of the man – Vincent – kept talking. A few more seconds. He apologized – again. What was he apologizing for? Whatever was about to happen, it wasn't his fault.

Then he said it. "I'm sorry – I'm truly sorry – but this competition … it's a fight to the death."

Gasps. Murmurs. A few shouts. But Piper barely heard them over the pounding of her own heart as the vision snapped. The blurry outlines faded, and Vincent was once again talking about the competition. Apologizing. Piper clutched the sides of the chair tightly, trying to steady her own breathing. Trying not to panic.

"Are you okay?" the girl on her left asked quietly.

Piper nodded silently. Desperately. Maybe she had misheard. Maybe her vision had been wrong. Maybe there was something she could do to change it. She'd always been able to change it before. Always been able to stop the terrible things that were about to happen.

But this was different. This wasn't like the car that had almost hit her years ago, when she had discovered her power. This wasn't like the Sentinels that had almost attacked her family. There was nothing she could do to stop this. She could stand up and shout. Stop Vincent from saying the words at that particular moment. But that wouldn't change the reason they were there.

"I'm sorry – I'm truly sorry." Vincent's words echoed across the room. And he _did_ sound sorry. But that didn't make it any better. That didn't erase what he was about to say. Piper clenched her fists tightly, bracing herself.

"But this competition … it's a fight to the death."

* * *

 **Diana Pierri, 17**

"But this competition … it's a fight to the death."

Diana held back a gasp as the room, silent only a moment ago, filled with reactions. Gasps. Whispers. A few of the people started shouting, demanding to know what right the government had to do this, how they thought they were going to get mutants to kill each other. Vincent tried to keep talking, but was quickly overwhelmed by the noise.

Diana, meanwhile, turned to the girl next to her. "You knew … that's what happened. You _knew_ what he was going to say."

The girl nodded a little, maybe too shocked to do anything but confirm Diana's guess. Diana smiled a little. "That's your gift – you can see the future?"

"Only a little at a time. A few seconds. Maybe a minute. I just wanted to take a look, but…"

Diana nodded. Knowing the truth a few seconds sooner than the others … maybe that wasn't such a big deal. But it seemed amazing. "What about you?" the girl asked as the others continued talking. "What's your…?"

"My gift?"

The girl shook her head. "Doesn't feel like much of a gift right now, if it got us into this."

She had a point. But what else was she supposed to call it? Diana hesitated. She'd never actually _told_ anyone about what she could do. Her parents had figured it out on their own. She hadn't wanted to tell her friends because of the anti-mutant rhetoric they all saw on the news. But when the Sentinels had come, Freya and Lucia had stood by her. And they were _all_ mutants here. Her power certainly wasn't any more frightening than the other girl's…

"I can control dreams," she said at last. And it felt _good_ to say it out loud. It felt _real_. Much more real than everything else that was happening around them. "I can visit other people's dreams, change things once I'm there – make it better. Or make it worse, I suppose, but…" She trailed off. She'd only hurt someone in a dream once – and that was by accident. She'd punched her brother on the shoulder, and he'd woken up the next morning with a bruise. Once she'd realized she could hurt people through their dreams, she'd never done anything of the sort again. But now…

"That's really neat," the other girl offered as the rest of the mutants continued to talk around them. "I've never met another—"

"Another mutant?" Diana finished, and the girl nodded. Diana smiled a little. "I'm Diana."

"Piper."

"What do you think—"

But her question was cut off by a loud noise. Someone was shouting – shouting incoherently over the murmurs that had grown into a roar. One of the other adults up front – Ian, if she remembered right – was shouting some sort of nonsense about green eggs and ham. "Would you, could you – just settle down – on a boat – and listen – with a goat – Just _stop!_ " The last word brought everyone to a complete silence. Ian shook his head, as if clearing out the nonsense. "Just _listen_! We don't like this any more than you do, but we're trying to _help_!"

"By getting us ready for a fight to the death?" one of the older girls nearby shot back bitterly. "Some _help._ "

Ian shook his head. "You've got a point, but would you – could you – in the dark?" He glanced around, frustrated, as if trying to find the source of the nonsense he kept spouting. Diana looked around. No one seemed to know why he was suddenly quoting Dr. Seuss.

What was going on?

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

He knew exactly what was going on.

Austin quickly made his way to Verona's side. "Verona, stop it. He's trying to help."

But Verona didn't seem to realize what she was doing. She barely seemed to hear him. She was still watching Ian, Maria, and Vincent in disbelief. Maybe she was trying to process what was going on. Maybe she didn't want to hear what they were saying, so she was replacing it. Either way, if she didn't stop soon—

Just as Ian was beginning to admit that he liked green eggs and ham, the door opened, and an older man entered, followed by Alvin. The older man held some sort of device – maybe a remote of sorts. He pressed a button, and Verona gave a little yelp. Ian's voice returned to normal. "—and we'll try to get – hey, what did you do?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing drastic. I just turned one of the collars on."

A few murmurs rose across the room as the others put the pieces together. So that was what the collars did. They stopped mutants from being able to use their powers. But why had he simply said 'one of the collars'? Were they not supposed to know which of them could do what? Was he trying to be considerate of Verona? That didn't seem quite right.

So then there was probably another reason. He wanted them to be afraid – of each other. Austin clenched his fists as he sat down next to Verona, leaving his own chair unoccupied. They might be able to force them into a fight to the death, but they couldn't force them to be afraid of each other. To turn on each other. Humans were already afraid of them. Of what they could do. If they started being afraid of each other…

Of course, that was exactly what the government wanted. For them to be afraid. Divided. Austin shook his head as the man headed to the front of the group. It wouldn't work. It would never work. They were afraid now, but not of each other. They were afraid of _him_.

And that wasn't going to be enough.

"I'm Nicholas Wright," the man said quietly. "As these three have already told you, they're here to help you train. Over the next three days, they'll be helping you to hone your skills. Teaching you how to survive in the arena. How to fight. How to kill. Once you're in the arena, you'll be expected to fight to the death – until only one of you remains."

A few scoffs from some of the older mutants. John – the one who had spoken up earlier – shook his head. "How do you expect to convince us to fight each other. You think we'll kill each other for you?"

"Not for me. For yourselves. Only one of you can go home. Whether you kill each other or whether you slowly starve to death until only one of you is left – it makes no difference to us."

Austin shook his head. He was bluffing. It _did_ matter. But the fear of starving to death – would that be enough to convince some of them to kill each other?

Would it be enough to convince _him_?

"Training will take place in shifts," Nicholas continued. "Starting—"

Before he could finish, however, Alvin stepped forward and whispered something in his ear. Nicholas turned towards him and the three others – Vincent, Ian, and Maria. For a moment, they spoke in whispers at the front of the room, discussing … what? When training would begin? Whether they would even be _allowed_ to train after that sort of an outburst? Austin leaned forward a little, but it did no good. They were much too quiet.

He just wished he could hear.

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

He could hear everything.

Simon leaned forward a little as he concentrated on the group at the front. "They're not ready," the tall man with the bandaged arm whispered sharply.

"Of course they're not," Nicholas agreed. "That's why they're going to be training."

"I didn't mean they're not ready for the Games. I meant they're not ready to _train_. Not after that sort of news. They need time – time to take it in. Time to realize what it really means."

Nicholas shook his head. "What are you proposing?"

"A day. Give them a day – to recover, to process, to put everything together. To figure out what they want to do about what they were just told. Give them _time_ , or they'll just be acting on instinct."

"What's wrong with that?"

"People don't _learn_ well when they're acting on instinct. If you force them to start training now, they'll push themselves too hard. They'll be afraid. Desperate. They'll make mistakes. They'll be exhausted before the Games even begin. Is that what you want?"

Yes. Of course it was what they wanted. They wanted them to _kill_ each other, after all. Surely that would be easier to accomplish if they were already exhausted.

But, to his surprise, Nicholas shook his head. "If you're certain…"

"I am."

"Very well, then." He turned back to the group, his voice no longer a whisper. "Training will take place in shifts, starting tomorrow. Today, you're free to do as you like. There's breakfast in the cafeteria next door. Food will be served throughout the day. You're welcome to return to your rooms and rest, to interact with each other or with your coaches, or to begin training on your own."

"You've been divided into groups based on who we thought we could best help," Ian added. "But feel free to come talk to any of us. We're here to help. We want to help all of you. We just…"

There was no good way to finish that sentence. _We just realize that most of you are going to be dead soon. We just recognize that you're going to be killing each other in a few days._ There was no good way of putting it. No matter how much the coaches might want to be there for all of them, the truth was that only one of them was going to win.

Simon glanced around at his fellow mutants. His fellow contestants. So many of them were older, but that wasn't what frightened him the most. The most frightening thing was that he had no way of knowing what their powers were. What they could do.

Of course, they knew just as little about him. They had no way of knowing that eavesdropping was pretty much the only thing his power was good for. They had no way of knowing what he could do. So maybe it was better if it stayed that way.

But at the same time, the idea of telling someone … it was tempting. Ever since discovering his mutation, he'd kept it a secret – out of fear of what people would think. His power wasn't dangerous, but people were wary around mutants of any sort. It wouldn't matter to most people that his power wasn't something that would harm them. But here…

Here, he wasn't alone. There were other people with abilities – maybe similar to his own. He had no way of knowing, but, suddenly, he had an urge to find out. To ask – even if it seemed like an awkward question. Simon's gaze followed a few of the contestants who were headed for the cafeteria. He followed, but he already knew he wouldn't be able to eat.

How could _anyone_?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

At least it wasn't green eggs and ham.

Verona dug a fork into her pancake, twisting it around a few times before stabbing again. Her parents had always told her not to play with her food. But they would probably forgive her now. Now that she might be about to…

No. No, she wasn't ready to think about that. She tried to eat a few bites of her food, but everything tasted dry. Her mind was spinning, and she still felt as if she was struggling just to breathe. She'd had a feeling, when they'd landed – and maybe even before – that they weren't just here for a simple experiment. That something bad was going to happen. But she'd never imagined this.

A fight to the death. Nicholas – he expected them to kill each other. _Wanted_ them to kill each other. Why? What had they ever done to him? What had she ever done to _anyone_? Sure, she mixed up people's words on occasion, but she'd never actually _hurt_ anyone. "It's not fair."

Only when Austin responded did she realize she'd said the words out loud. "I know," he said quietly, stabbing his own pancake with his fork. "I thought Alvin said—"

"He lied. They all lied. We were stupid to trust _any_ of them."

Austin shook his head. "Well, it's not like we had much of a _choice_ in the matter. If we hadn't come on our own, they could have just taken us. You told me what the Sentinels did to your house."

"But Alvin stopped them. I thought he stopped them because he was trying to protect me, but…" She trailed off. Had he just wanted to keep her alive so that she could die now, instead? That was even crueler than if he had let the Sentinels kill her. "It's not fair."

Austin didn't seem to have much to say to that. Maybe there wasn't much _to_ say. It wasn't fair. But there wasn't anything they could do about it. She ran her fingers along her collar. Since Nicholas had turned it on, she hadn't been able to change anyone's words. It felt strangely … empty.

She hadn't been _trying_ to change Ian's. She had just been so afraid. She hadn't wanted to hear what he was saying. What _any_ of them were saying. So she had shut them out the only way she could. But that wasn't going to help her if she came up against someone who was using something more deadly than words. If someone tried to kill her, what could she do? What could either of them do?

Nothing. There was nothing they could do. Her power wouldn't protect her. Even Austin's – would that really be any use in a fight? They'd told each other on the plane what they could do. Had that been a mistake? What if someone decided to use that information against them?

No. No, that was silly. Besides Austin, the only people who knew were Cameron and Jayden. And neither of them seemed particularly dangerous, either. Or, at least, they hadn't before. But before, she hadn't been _thinking_ about who would be dangerous. About who might try to kill her.

Everything was different now.

* * *

 **Bennett Lyons, 19**

Everything was different now.

Ben pushed his plate aside, despite the fact that he'd barely eaten a few bites. He wasn't hungry. He was furious. They had no right to do this – to any of them. But especially to him. With his future. And in his condition. It wasn't fair.

But there was nothing he could do about it – not yet, at least. Right now, the people running the show would be on alert. They would be watching for any hint that the contestants weren't going to behave as expected. Any sign that they might try to escape. If he was going to act, it couldn't be now. He would have to play along for a while.

But not forever. That wasn't an option. They weren't going to force him to play their stupid game. Take part in their 'experiment.' And they were idiots if they actually thought people were going to go along with it. There was no way it would work. They wouldn't turn on each other just because a couple guys in suits told them to fight each other.

Would they?

Ben glanced around the room. A few of the other contestants were eating, but most didn't seem to have much of an appetite. They were standing around the edges of the room, unsure. Watching each other. Waiting to see what the others would do.

Waiting for someone to act.

But there were others watching, too. The three adults from the front of the room – Vincent, Ian, and Maria – stood in one corner, watching the others. And, all around the room, about a dozen or so soldiers in uniforms stood, ready to act at any sign of trouble.

Stupid. Or, at least, it _would_ be stupid, if not for their collars. His powers might have been useless against the Sentinels, but it wouldn't be hard to shoot a blast of heat at the guards. Enough to stun them. Maybe even enough to kill them. He'd never really thought about _killing_ someone else, but if that was what they were expected to do, he might as well think about killing the people who were actually responsible.

The people who were actually responsible. But who was that? The man who had come to his campus had introduced himself as a member of the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board. Was the government in on this? Certainly the military seemed to be part of it. So whoever was in charge, it wasn't the dozen soldiers in the room. They were enforcing orders.

Orders given by whom? Why would the government want to do such a thing? Sure, there were people who believed that mutants were dangerous – just as there were mutants who seemed to enforce that belief – but what good would forcing them to fight each other do? What were they hoping to accomplish?

And did they really expect it to work?

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

They couldn't really expect this to work.

Monet shook their head as they took another bite of their pancakes. Trying to appear calm. Collected. Unbothered by the news they had just heard. There wasn't any way it would succeed. It was some sort of trick – or maybe a test.

Yes. Yes, that was it. Maybe it was a test. Maybe the _real_ experiment – the _real_ question – was whether or not the mutants would do as they were instructed and start killing each other. Which meant _not_ killing each other was an option. They just had to convince the others not to act.

That wouldn't be too hard. It wasn't as if any of them _wanted_ to kill each other. They had no reason to. No reason to hate each other or even to be afraid of each other, like humans were so often afraid of them. Hans had said that he was offering them a chance to show the world that they didn't need to be afraid of mutants. Maybe he had been lying to trick them, but the truth was that this was still an opportunity to do just that.

"Nice to see I'm not the only one who doesn't think this will work."

Monet glanced up, startled. They'd been so engrossed in their thoughts, they hadn't even noticed that there was someone else standing there. "I'm Rachel," the girl offered, taking a seat across from Monet, breakfast plate in hand. "And I agree; there's no way they're going to be able to pull this off. No one in this room wants to kill each other."

Monet smiled a little. That was reassuring, especially coming from someone who could … what? Read minds? Or was she just being observant? Either way, it was nice to know that they weren't the only one with doubts.

"But they are afraid," Rachel continued, glancing around the room. "And angry. Not at each other, but I just hope … well, I hope they direct that anger at the people who are actually responsible, rather than turning on each other."

Monet giggled. "You sound like a shrink."

"I thought about studying psychology when I was younger," Rachel admitted. "But I decided … well, I want to help people, but I really want to help _mutants_."

Monet shrugged. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Maybe. But if humans don't want our help…"

"Some of them do. Or they would, if they understood that we could help them. They're just afraid."

"Of you? What's your power?"

Monet hesitated. They'd never actually _told_ anyone about their abilities. Their mother and Haven had discovered their power by accident. They'd always kept their abilities a secret around others, out of fear of being caught.

But they'd already been caught. What was there to lose? It wasn't as if their power was something that would frighten Rachel away. For a moment, they concentrated, and the outer layer of skin on their left hand quickly turned to paper. "This."

For a moment, Rachel stared. Monet giggled. That had been their reaction, too, when they'd first discovered what they could do. It hadn't quite seemed real. "Is that … paper?" Rachel asked at last.

Monet nodded, then watched Rachel's expression as the paper turned back into their normal skin. "What do you think?"

* * *

 **Rachel Adams, 19**

She couldn't help smiling.

Rachel leaned in closer to get a better look. "I think that's amazing." And it was – but not just because of her companion's ability to turn their skin into paper. It was amazing that they'd been so trusting so immediately – especially when they'd just been told they would be expected to kill each other soon. If everyone was so trusting, it wouldn't be hard to convince them not to fight.

But not everyone _was_ so trusting; she could tell that much just by scanning the room. Some, like the mutant across from her, had managed to maintain a positive outlook on the world. But others were bitter. Angry. Most were simply scared. But fear was a powerful weapon – as powerful as any of their abilities. And the government knew how to wield it.

"You really think so?" They were smiling, obviously delighted with that sort of a reaction. Was this the first time they'd told anyone what they could do?

"I do," Rachel nodded. "What's your name?"

"Monet."

"Where are you from, Monet?"

"Delaware."

"Wyoming."

Monet whistled. "I guess they're taking people from all across the country, huh? Did they tell you it was for a television show?"

"What?"

"When they came to get you. The man who came to find me – Hans – he said it was for a television show. That they were trying to show the public they didn't have to be afraid of mutants. I guess they thought I wouldn't make a fuss if I thought…"

"That you were doing something to help."

"Exactly."

Rachel shook her head. That was wrong. This whole thing was wrong, of course, but there was something especially wrong about tricking mutants into thinking they were going to help their cause, only to try to turn them against each other. At least Francine had been a bit more straightforward. But why would they say it was a television show, unless—

Rachel stood up suddenly from her seat and stormed over to the nearest soldier. "What are they planning to do – while we're in the Games? What is it you're not telling us?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

That wasn't true. It was obvious. Would have been obvious even without her power. "Are they planning to tape us? Are they planning to show everyone what's going on? Our families – are they going to be able to see us?" She was practically shouting now, but the man was still unfazed. Still unwilling to—

"Yes." But the voice hadn't come from the soldier. It had come from behind her. Rachel whirled around to find herself face-to-face with the woman who had been introduced as Maria earlier. "Yes. They're planning to air the … experiment … on television. They're calling it the X-Games. The whole country will be able to see it."

Rachel clenched her fists. "Why?"

"To show the country how dangerous mutants are." Maria hesitated. "Or, at least, how dangerous they _think_ we are," she added quietly. "Whether we really _are_ that dangerous … well, that's up to us, if you understand what I mean."

Rachel nodded slowly. She did understand. Maria didn't want the Games to go forward any more than the rest of them did. She couldn't say it directly – probably because of the soldier standing next to them – but she didn't want them to fight, either. And if Rachel could convince the others, then all the better. She might as well have said, 'Good luck.' Rachel smiled a little.

"I understand."

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He didn't understand.

Cameron glanced around frantically as murmurs filled the room. Maria's words had been loud enough for everyone to hear. The purpose of the experiment – the Games – was to prove that mutants were dangerous. They would be broadcast on television. Everyone would be able to see how dangerous mutants were.

Cameron swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in his throat. They'd made a terrible mistake. He wasn't dangerous. His power wasn't frightening or threatening or even particularly interesting. So why had they picked him?

His whole body seemed to be shaking as he stood up from the table. They'd made a mistake. A terrible mistake. And he had to convince them to fix it, before—

As if in a daze, he made his way back to the other room, where Alvin and the man who had introduced himself as Nicholas were still conversing on the other side of the room. Alvin noticed him first. "Cameron. Is there something—"

"Please, I want to go."

"Bathroom's the other way. Second door on the left."

Cameron could barely hold back his tears. "I meant I want to go _home_. Please. There's been some sort of mistake. I'm not the sort of mutant you want. You want people who are … are dangerous. People who can fight. People who will be able to kill each other. You don't want someone like me in your Games. You don't want someone who…"

He trailed off before he could finish the sentence. Someone who … what? Someone who's just going to die? He didn't want to die. But what chance did he really have against the others? Older mutants. Stronger mutants. Mutants with much more powerful abilities. All he could do was eat things that might be poisonous and live. What good was that going to be?

"I'm sorry, Cameron." And Alvin _did_ sound sorry. But that didn't make it any better. "Everyone in that room was chosen for a reason. We chose you. And I'm sorry, but we can't just let you go home. None of you _want_ to be here. But all of you are _going_ to be in the Games."

"But I just want—"

"I know." Alvin took a step towards Cameron and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Is there anything else I can do? Anything you want? Anything you think would help you and the others get through the next few days?"

The next few days. Was that all he had? Cameron blinked back tears. He didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted…

"My family." Cameron's voice was barely more than a whisper. "If I die, can you tell my family that … that I love them? That I wanted to come back to them – more than anything?"

Alvin nodded a little. "I can do better than that."

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

"You want what?" Nicholas whispered.

Alvin shook his head. They were far away enough from the boy now – well out of earshot. "Let them contact their families. A phone call, an email, a snapchat – something. Something to let them know that they're still alive." They'd confiscated the contestants' phones and other paraphernalia, of course, but they could always give it back…

"No," Nicholas disagreed. "It's too dangerous. If they tell their families that they've been instructed to kill each other, the entire Games could be at risk. The audience can't know that the experiment is rigged. They have to believe that mutants are simply natural killers, or the whole thing is pointless."

"So we monitor their discussions – make sure they don't mention it."

"Do you really think we have the time to monitor thirty different sets of phones and emails? Not to mention the fact that _one_ of our contestants happens to be a technical genius."

Alvin shrugged. "You picked him."

"True, but the point stands. It's too big a risk."

"Letters, then?"

"Pardon?"

"Letters. Pencil and paper. Or postcards, maybe. Something we can screen before we send them. Not as quick, but I doubt that'll matter."

Nicholas thought that over for a moment. "Do you think it will help?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will they train better – and fight better – if they're able to have some sort of contact with their loved ones?"

Alvin smiled a little. He knew what Nicholas was doing. He was looking for a reason – an excuse – to say yes. All Alvin had to do was give him one. He glanced over at Cameron, still out of earshot but clearly waiting for an answer. Waiting to see what they were going to do. "Absolutely," Alvin nodded. "They'll obviously train better – and fight harder – if they remember who's waiting for them to come home." He shrugged.

"Wouldn't you?"

* * *

" _Today was meant to be a display of your power."_


	11. Team

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Hooray for snow days! I can finally get caught up on editing this stuff. :)

* * *

 **Team**

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

She wasn't sure whether it was a good idea or not.

Maria stopped pacing back and forth as Cameron and Alvin returned with an assortment of pens, pencils, and Alaska postcards. She listened as Alvin explained that the contestants could write letters to their families – but that the letters would be carefully screened for any mention of the fact that they were about to be fighting to the death. Maria nodded silently. Of course they wouldn't want their families to know that their sons and daughters were about to die. Word would spread quickly, and there would be outrage.

Most likely, the letters wouldn't even be sent out until after the Games had taken place. But maybe it was better than nothing. Several of the teens – especially the younger ones – quickly snatched up pencils and paper and started writing. Others were more hesitant, but eventually did so. Some lingered on the edge of the room, ignoring the invitation. Those with no families, maybe, or who hadn't contacted their families in years.

Slowly, Maria made her way over to Alvin, who was watching the contestants with keen interest. Observing. Taking notes, perhaps. Predicting which of the contestants would try to sneak in some word about what they were being forced to do, and which would obediently omit the information. Finally, she worked up the courage to ask the question on her mind. "Vincent and Ian and I … can we…?"

Alvin nodded. "Of course. Just remember – no word about what you're actually doing here. Pretend you're on vacation in Alaska or something." He handed her a postcard of the northern lights.

 _Pretend you're on vacation._ How long had it been since the mansion and been raided? How long since she'd disappeared without a trace? How long since her family had heard from her? She'd been so focused on what they were about to do, she hadn't had much time to be homesick. But now…

And that was the problem – or, at least, the potential problem – with letting the contestants contact their families. It might encourage them to fight harder – and that was probably what Alvin and the others were counting on – but had they considered the alternative? That it might make them so homesick, they wouldn't be able to focus on anything else?

Maria glanced around, then took a seat beside Ian, who was scribbling furiously on a polar bear postcard. "How long since they heard from you?" Maria asked.

Ian shook his head. "Maybe a month or two before we were taken. We don't really … keep in contact much. Not like you and your folks. Not that I don't _want_ to talk to them – it's just that I never saw the need to call every week just to let them know that … well, that I'm still okay. I never thought…"

Maria nodded. She'd called her parents only a few days before the attack. Ever since they'd mended the rift between them, they'd grown closer. But now…

Ian glanced up, shaking his head. "I don't know if it's better or worse – the fact that we have people who'll be worried about us."

Maria followed his gaze. Vincent was still pacing about the room, completely unfazed, trading smiles and nods with the contestants who hadn't bothered taking any letter-writing supplies. Forming a silent bond with the mutants whose powers had put them at odds with their families – if they even had any left.

Maria quickly finished her letter and returned to pacing the room. Maybe it was selfish – wanting to contact her own family before helping the contestants come to terms with what was going on. But this might be the only chance she would have to get word to them for … well, quite a while. In a few days, they would be far too busy.

They had to make use of the time they had.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She had to use the time he had.

Jayden stared at the paper in front of her, trying to figure out what to write while Hiro chewed quietly on one of the pencils. She had no desire to write to her parents – and she wasn't even sure what prison they were in – but her Aunt Katrina … she had to tell her something.

But what? Katrina would want to know what was going on. But Jayden couldn't tell her. At least, not the important part. Alvin hadn't said _what_ would happen if they tried to mention the coming fight, but it didn't take a genius to figure out that any letters that contained that sort of information wouldn't be sent. And she wanted to send _something._ But what?

Jayden took a deep breath and retrieved her pencil from Hiro's mouth. _Okay. What would you want to hear?_ Finally, she managed to write three words. _Dear Aunt Katrina._

There she stopped again, shaking her head as Austin took a seat by her. "Trying to figure out what to write?"

Jayden had to fight to keep herself from jumping up and running the other way. Instead, she looked away a little, nodding. Austin nodded. "Me, too. I mean, what do you say? _Hi, mom and dad, enjoying Alaska, see you in a little while … maybe – if I survive a death match against thirty other mutants who could probably knock me out with one punch._ Yeah, that's a nice, cheery thing to put on a postcard with—" He turned it over, glancing at the front. "Baby penguins."

Jayden shook her head. "Penguins don't even live in Alaska. They live at the south pole."

Austin chuckled a little. "Guess they weren't really thinking. What's on yours?"

Jayden turned it around, showing him the dogsled team on the front. Austin nodded in Hiro's direction. "Makes sense, I guess. Are they going to let you bring him with you when…" He trailed off. Maybe he couldn't say the words. Couldn't quite bring himself to believe what they were about to do.

But she believed it. After everything else that had happened, this was … well, it wasn't any worse than being tied up and thrown in the ocean. Some of the others seemed surprised that this sort of hate would be aimed at mutants who hadn't done anything wrong, but she knew better. She'd known better for a long time.

Jayden shrugged and turned back to her postcard and began writing.

 _Dear Aunt Katrina,  
_ _I'm in Alaska. I'll be home as soon as I can.  
_ _Please don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I've been through a lot worse than this. And besides, Hiro's here with me. He'll protect me._

But he wouldn't. She knew that already. Even if Alvin agreed to let her take him into the Games with her, she couldn't do it. She would ask them to send him back to her aunt. He would be safe. He would live – even if she didn't.

That would have to be good enough.

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

That would have to be good enough.

Isadore shook his head as he read over his letter. He hadn't been able to come up with much to say – without mentioning the fact that he was about to be fighting for his life – but at least Kody would know he was alive.

But would he still be alive when his postcard was sent?

 _One thing at a time._ Isadore picked up his postcard and made his way over to one of the coaches who was pacing around the room. He held out the postcard. "Who do I give these to?"

"I can take them," the woman offered. "Are you Isadore?"

Isadore nodded. "How did you know who I—"

"We were given files on all of you … so that we could choose who would be the best coach for whom. You were one of the first ones I picked."

Isadore couldn't help a surprised look. With so many older, stronger mutants to choose from, she had picked him? "Why?"

"My power … I can breathe underwater. I figured that would be a good match for any aquakinetics."

Isadore nodded. That made sense, at least. It took him a moment to realize. "Aquakinetics? I'm … I'm not the only one?"

Maria smiled a little. "No. There are two of you, actually. Cassidy – she's right over there, I believe."

Isadore looked where Maria was pointing – towards a blonde girl who had been sitting next to him earlier, during the announcement. He hadn't realized that…

That what? That her power was similar to his? Did that really mean anything? It wasn't as if it meant they were related or something. So why should he care that they could both manipulate water?

Still, the idea of meeting someone besides Kody who shared his abilities was too good to pass up. Isadore hurried over to where the girl sat, trying to smile as he took a seat across from her. "Cassidy?"

The girl looked up, startled. "Yes?"

"Maria pointed you out. She's going to be coaching both of us. She said that you can control water, too?"

Cassidy nodded, then put it together. "Too? You mean that you—" But her question was cut short when Isadore reached out, lifting some of the water out of the glass that still sat beside her uneaten breakfast. "I've never met another…"

"Another aquakinetic?"

"Another _mutant_ , really," Cassidy admitted.

Isadore couldn't help staring. "Really?"

"Before coming here, at least," Cassidy nodded. "Do you mean you … knew other mutants, back in…"

"Oregon," Isadore finished. "Yeah. There were a few of us. Me and Kody – we control water. Terri can control fire. We were trying to keep it a secret, but … well, I guess that didn't work as well as we'd thought."

"But you're the only one they took?"

Isadore nodded. "I thought they wanted all of us, so I told them I'd come quietly if they left the others alone. But now – seeing how planned-out everything was – I think I'm the one they wanted in the first place."

Cassidy nodded a little. "I'm sorry they picked you."

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

"I'm sorry they picked you."

Cassidy couldn't quite believe she was actually saying it. Not because she didn't mean it. She was sorry _any_ of them had been picked. None of them deserved to be here. But that wasn't what she had said. She hadn't said she was sorry they had _all_ been picked. She was sorry _he_ had been picked. This boy in front of her who she barely knew.

But she _was_ sorry, because, regardless of the circumstances, he was the first mutant she'd had a real conversation with. After the Sentinel had taken her in Hawaii, she'd woken up in a cell, then followed the others to the other room in the morning. She hadn't really _spoken_ to any of them.

It seemed like such a small thing. But the idea of talking to another mutant – of getting to _know_ another mutant – was a powerful thing. "They weren't counting on this," Cassidy said quietly.

Isadore raised an eyebrow. "Counting on what?"

"Us getting to know each other. Everything they've done – putting us in different cells, letting us write letters home to our loved ones so that we ignore each other – they don't want us to get to know each other. This is probably the first time most of us have even _met_ another mutant. They weren't thinking of that."

"You're thinking we can convince the others not to kill each other?"

Cassidy shook her head. "No. No, there are probably some of them who are willing to kill – and others who will be willing to fight to defend themselves. But if we can form a group – a few of us – we have a better chance than if we go it alone. We'll be able to spend more time training if we train together. We can teach each other. We can—" Cassidy stopped short. She was getting ahead of herself. "That is, if you want to work with me."

"I…" Isadore hesitated for a moment. Maybe she had asked too quickly. Maybe she would seem too eager. Too ready to get started thinking about a fight to the death. But, after a moment, Isadore nodded. "So who else?"

"What?"

Isadore shrugged. "You said a group. So who else?"

Now it was her turn to hesitate. Isadore was a natural choice, given their compatible powers, but who else? She glanced around the room as if looking for options, but the truth was she wasn't even sure what anyone else in the room could do. And they weren't exactly likely to tell her if she went up to them and asked…

"Wait." Cassidy turned back to Isadore. "You said that Maria pointed me out to you, right? How did she know what I could do?"

"They have files on each of us. Information. It's how they decided who would be coaching who."

Cassidy nodded. That made sense. "So maybe she has information about the others. If we tell her we're thinking about forming a group—"

"—she might be able to steer us in the right direction – point out a contestant or two who might have similar powers."

"Or at least compatible ones," Cassidy agreed. "So what do you think?"

Isadore smiled. "It's worth a try."

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

Maybe it was worth a try.

Tariq turned the postcard over in his hands, trying to think. He wanted to send something to his family. But what? He barely even noticed when one of the younger boys took a seat across from him. "Trying to figure out what to write?"

Tariq nodded. "It's a bit … complicated. You see, my family already thinks I'm dead."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"My ability. I can slow my heartbeat and breathing. It helps me meditate, but sometimes … well, sometimes I slip into a state that I can't get out of. I seem to be dead, and my family – they buried me."

The boy let out a whistle. "How did you survive?"

Tariq smiled. "It was Halloween when they buried me. They left, and that's when I woke up. One of the gravediggers heard me knocking. He thought it was an elaborate joke – just a trick."

"So why didn't you just go back to your family?"

He made it sound so simple. "I tried, but my father – he thought I was a ghost." He shook his head. "And now … by the time they get this, I might be."

"You believe in ghosts?"

"I believe in spirits. I believe that those who have died before us sometimes give us … guidance. Advice. So if you want to call them ghosts … I suppose so. Yes."

The boy nodded a little. "So this … you don't think this is all there is."

Tariq shook his head. His faith had always been one of the things that kept him going. Even though it had brought his family nothing but persecution in his home country, he still clung to it like a lifeline in a troubled sea. "I believe there is more," he answered at last. "And you?"

The boy looked away. "I thought … I thought so. My parents – they always said my power was a gift from God. That He had a plan for me, that He would protect me. But now…"

"Now that plan doesn't seem so clear," Tariq finished.

The boy nodded. "Yeah. I mean, what sort of plan is this? What purpose could there be in letting us be brought here to kill each other?"

Tariq glanced down at his postcard. "I don't plan to kill."

"Then you'll die."

"Yes."

"And you're … okay with that?"

Tariq smiled a little. "What's your name?"

"Cameron."

"Cameron, we are all going to die someday. And if I'm going to die for something, the idea of dying to prove that we don't have to fight and kill each other at the government's whim … maybe that's something worth dying for."

Cameron swallowed hard. "Maybe it is."

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

That wouldn't last long.

Terry shook his head, listening to the pair of mutants at the next table. All that talk about peace and harmony and not killing each other was all well and good … until their lives were actually at stake. It was easy to sit here in a room with food and drink and whatever else they might want and say that they wouldn't kill. But when they were cold and tired and hungry, anything could happen.

He couldn't help a scoff, and apparently he wasn't the only one. "You said it," a girl nearby echoed.

Terry looked up, startled. Was she talking to him? "What?"

"Don't get me wrong – it's a nice idea. It's a lovely dream. But that's all it is – a dream. When they're actually out there, with the others fighting each other, they will, too – no matter how much they might not like it."

Terry nodded. The girl was right. But it didn't sound any better coming from her than it did in his head. Then something else caught his eye. "You're not writing."

The girl shook her head. "Neither are you."

"No one to write to." The Sentinels had killed the only person he had left.

"Me, neither," the girl admitted. "At least, no one they'd be able to get a letter to. If they have any brains, the others I was with are long gone by now, and I'm hoping they'll be able to stay where the government won't find them. Damned if I'm going to use them as a postal service, give them a _reason_ to hunt down my friends."

"Your friends – they're mutants, too."

The girl nodded. "There was a group of us, but … I guess I'm the one they wanted. Makes sense, I suppose. I was the oldest. The most prepared. If anything can prepare you for something like this, that is."

No. There was no being prepared for something like this. "What about you?" the girl asked. "You were on your own?"

"No, but the Sentinels … they killed Samantha."

"Was she your mom?"

"She might as well have been. My real parents … they threw me out when they realized I was a mutant."

The girl smiled wryly. "I wish mine had. It was years before I decided to run away on my own." She shook her head. "So Samantha … was she a mutant?"

"No, but she wasn't … she wasn't afraid of me. Of us." _Us_. Mutants. He'd never really had the chance to meet other mutants before. It was ironic, in a way, that he would only meet one here, where they would be expected to kill each other. "I'm Terry."

"Taylor. What do you say we head outside?"

Outside? What was outside? Nothing but cold and snow, probably. "Why?"

Taylor shrugged. "Well, they said we could use today to get some extra practice in, and if neither of us has anyone to write to…"

 _Neither of us._ Terry slowly got up and followed her towards the door. Was there really an 'us'? _Could_ there really be an 'us' when they were expected to kill each other?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

There was only one way to find out.

Taylor kept walking towards the door that seemed to lead outside. Were the soldiers simply going to let them walk out? That didn't seem likely, but no one made a move to stop the two of them.

The two of them. Taylor glanced behind her; Terry was still following. She hadn't even hesitated. She'd been looking for others – others who might be able to form a group – and he seemed to have the right attitude.

Because, even if only one of them could win, there was strength in numbers. There always had been. She'd survived on the streets because she'd found others like herself. Other mutants who could help each other survive.

But would he really be able to help her survive? That's what she would have to find out. And in order to figure that out, she had to know what he was capable of. Just going up and asking other contestants about their powers sounded suspicious. But if she offered to train with him…

Taylor clenched her fists. When she thought about it like that, it sounded like she was manipulating him. That wasn't what she was trying to do. Not really. She just didn't want to end up working with someone who would only slow her down. She couldn't afford that – not with her life on the line.

Finally, the pair of them reached the door. "And just where do you think you're going?" came a voice from behind her.

Taylor whirled around to face an older man in a black suit. His right arm was bandaged, but she wasn't about to let that stop her if he tried to stand in their way. "Outside," she answered, her voice firm. _Just try to stop us._

The man shrugged. "Okay, if that's what you want. But having a place to practice your skills isn't going to do you much good if your collars are still on."

Taylor glanced over at Terry. So whatever his power was, it was threatening enough for them to have turned on his collar in the first place. Taylor turned back to the man and asked the obvious question. "So how do we turn them off?"

The man shook his head. "You don't. I do. But just remember that I can turn them back on again in a second if you try any funny business – and so can any of the other soldiers, in case you're thinking of killing me and making a run for it."

Making a run for it. That hadn't really occurred to her. She had assumed there would be some sort of fence outside, or at least a few Sentinels standing guard. But as she could finally see out the door, there didn't seem to be anything…

"Oh, you could try to run," the man assured her. "But I'd really rather you didn't. It's cold out there, and by the time the Sentinels found you, you might be frozen solid. There's nowhere to go. And seeing as neither of you can conjure a portal to somewhere warmer or make a fire for yourselves out of your own body heat…"

Taylor nodded. Her regenerative abilities might keep her alive for a while, but they wouldn't help get her to safety. The Sentinels would find them before they could reach any civilization. "Fine," she agreed grudgingly. "Turn them off."

The man smiled a little and pushed a button on the remote in his hand. "As you wish. Just try not to kill each other before the Games start."

Taylor shook her head and headed out the door.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

Part of him wished he'd gone with them.

Akil shook his head as he watched Taylor and Terry head outside. They both seemed so confident. So certain that they would be able to control their abilities – even with so many people around, even in such a strange environment. He'd spent his life trying to hide his abilities, trying to suppress them. Only using them when it was absolutely necessary in order to find food or shelter. But now…

Now his life would depend on his ability to use his powers. Slowly, he stood up from the table and made his way towards the door. It wasn't as if he was writing anything, anyway. Wasn't as if he had anyone left to write _to_. There was no one who was going to miss him. He'd been living on the streets like an animal…

Like an animal. Silently, Akil ran his fingers along the collar that now circled his neck. Just like a stray animal. But even _animals_ were treated better than this. If someone had rounded up thirty stray dogs and was forcing _them_ to fight to the death, the public would be outraged. The government would step in.

But this … no one seemed to care. Of course, no one really _knew_ yet. Hell, if he hadn't been chosen for the Games, _he_ wouldn't have known this was happening. And that was one thing – capturing thirty mutants and forcing them to fight each other in secret.

But that wasn't what this was. They were going to broadcast it. They were going to show the world exactly what they were doing. Surely they wouldn't do that if they thought people would care. If they thought there would be riots or protests, they would try to keep the Games a secret – at least at first, until people warmed up to the idea. Instead, they were going to show the whole world…

The whole world. Including his family. They were out there somewhere. Did they ever wonder about him? Would they even recognize him when they saw him on the television? Would they care if he…

If he died? Akil swallowed hard. He wasn't going to let that happen. He _couldn't_ let that happen. Not because his family would be disappointed or heartbroken. For all he knew, they'd forgotten all about him. No, the reason was much simpler than that. He didn't want to die.

Maybe that would be enough. It had been enough to keep him alive on the streets so far. Enough to coax him into learning how to use his powers – at least enough to survive. Maybe that would give him an advantage over some of the mutants in the room. Some of them looked like they had come from good homes. Homes with families. They'd probably never had to fend for themselves – not like he had.

Maybe that should have made him feel better. But it didn't. All he felt was a sudden, deep longing. Some of them had managed to live normal lives. How? How had they done it? Were their powers simply less dangerous than his? Or had their families been more accepting? Or was it simply luck?

If so, he'd been unlucky so far. So maybe it was time for that to change. Maybe this … well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He'd already survived on the streets for years. How much harder could this be?

But he already knew the answer to that. Surviving was one thing. Killing was another. And they'd made it clear that only one person was coming out of the Games alive. Which meant he would either have to get very, very lucky … or he would have to kill.

He wasn't sure he would be able to do that.

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

He wasn't sure how they could do this.

Ky glanced around the room. Small groups seemed to be forming everywhere. A few of the contestants had left the room and headed outside to … what? Train in private, maybe, or perhaps simply practice where there would be more room. Now that he thought about it, some fresh air did sound good.

But as soon as he stepped outside, he wished he hadn't. Two of the contestants – a girl and a boy – were already outside, working with one of the coaches. The pair of them had collected some water and were manipulating it into streams, letting it freeze into balls of ice in the frigid weather. As he watched, one of the boys joined them – one of the older ones. He raised his hands, concentrating, and most of the snow and ice within a dozen feet melted into water. The other two contestants cheered, clapping him on the back. The boy smirked a little, heating up the water as they continued casting it back and forth.

Ky shook his head. They were almost … laughing. He was sure he heard one of them giggle. Didn't they _understand_? This wasn't a game. Only one of them was going to survive.

No. Not one of _them_. _He_ was going to be the one to survive. And if that was going to happen, he couldn't afford to start making friends. Sure, the other contestants looked like they were having fun. But no matter how much their captors might try to dress this up as a game, it wasn't. It was life and death.

And he meant to live.

So he headed off to the side, away from the other three and their games, summoning a bit of shadow to surround him as he went, grateful to finally be able to do so. Someone must have turned off his collar when he had come outside. They might regret that…

No. No, he couldn't afford to do anything stupid. If he tried to attack them, they could kill him right here. No one even knew where he was yet. If they killed him before the start of their stupid little game, they wouldn't even have to explain themselves to anyone. They could pretend he had simply disappeared. No one would ever know.

No. That wasn't quite true. Quinn knew what had happened. But he wasn't even sure where she was anymore. Wasn't sure where she would go. Which was why he hadn't bothered writing her a letter. And their parents … what would he say? Anything he might say about where Quinn may have gone would also lead the Sentinels right to her. No, better to say nothing. He could explain everything when he went home.

But that was a long way away. And even if he managed to survive, they had never said what they had planned for the winner of their game. Would he even be allowed to go back home? Would they keep him here forever? Lock him up somewhere? No. No, they couldn't do that. Could they? If they did – if all the winner of their contest got was a lifetime in chains – would any of them really fight for that? Would they be willing to _kill_ for that?

Ky clenched his fists. He already knew the answer. And the answer was yes. Because life – any sort of life at all – meant a _chance_ at freedom. They couldn't simply keep a bunch of mutants locked up forever. Eventually, they would make a mistake.

And when they did, he would be ready.

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19**

They certainly seemed ready to jump right in.

Juliska eyed the group of three mutants cautiously. Two of them seemed to be controlling water, and the third was … what? Heating it? Manipulating the molecules inside the snow to make them warmer? She took a few steps closer. Maybe if she…

She didn't even think. Not really. A stream of fire came bursting from her hand – directed carefully away from the other three mutants. They turned, startled, as the fire began to melt the snow in its path. She smiled a little. "You're not the only one who can heat things up a bit."

The boy nodded, at least a little impressed. The coach smiled. "Actually, that's going to be more useful than you might think."

Juliska took a step closer, extinguishing the fire. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, the arena you're going to be in – it's probably somewhere nearby. Look around you. What do you see?"

"Snow?" Juliska offered.

"More snow," the other girl nodded.

"Even more snow," the younger boy finished.

"Exactly," the coach agreed. "Snow, but no fresh water. So being able to _make_ fresh, drinkable water – well, that's quite an advantage. Being able to stay warm … well, that's no small thing, either, in this temperature. And being able to keep _others_ warm could work to your advantage, too."

"Others?" Juliska asked skeptically. "You mean like a group? Is that even allowed?" She had assumed the three of them were just training together. Did they really intend to work together as a group once they were in the Games? Did they really think the people in charge would let them do that?

The older boy shrugged. "I don't know why not. They've been watching us ever since we started. If we weren't allowed to work together, I think they would've said something by now."

He was probably right. But even if it was technically allowed, that didn't necessarily make it a good idea. Only one of them could survive. How could any of them really trust each other?

And yet … they seemed to. Juliska nodded a little. These three – they weren't the real enemy. "So what's your name?" the other girl asked.

"Juliska. And you're…"

"Cassidy. This is Isadore and Ben. Since Maria's training all of us, if we're working together, that gives us more time to practice. So that gives us—"

"—an advantage," Juliska finished. "That doesn't quite seem fair."

Ben shrugged. "Why not? It's not like we're stopping any of the others from doing the same thing and forming their own group. We just happened to think of it first."

Juliska nodded. He was right. They weren't robbing another group of an opportunity; they were simply taking advantage of one themselves. And even if they were … well, maybe it wasn't about playing fair. Was it worth playing dirty, if it meant she got to go home?

Home. But would the winner even get to go home? She turned to Maria. "Do you know what … what they plan to do with whoever wins?"

"I don't know," Maria admitted. "I just know that they get to live. I guess they figure that's enough to offer."

Juliska nodded. They were right. It didn't matter, maybe, what sort of life the winner got afterwards. They got to live.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

None of it seemed to matter.

Hadley ran his fingers along the wall of the cafeteria as the smell of food began to waft through the room again. He'd spent the morning watching the others, but, somehow, none of it seemed to matter. What the other contestants did. What their coaches did. Even what the soldiers did, or what they'd been told about what was coming.

All that mattered was that, for the first time in years, he could think clearly. He was certain about what was real and what wasn't. He'd grown accustomed to those lines being blurred, but now, with the collar impeding his power, everything had immediately become less fuzzy. The lines between delusion and reality had finally solidified.

Now he just had to figure out whether that was better or worse.

On the one hand, he could think a lot more clearly now. He didn't have to worry that he might be imagining voices, or that the whole room might suddenly shift in front of him. But on the other hand…

On the other hand, he hadn't realized how much he had gotten used to it. The voices. The unpredictability. Being able to shape his own reality. Doing his own thing without regard for what other people might think, what they might do. He'd never had to worry about this many people before. In fact, it was rare that he even allowed himself to get this close to _anyone_ , let alone a room full of people.

"It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it."

Hadley nearly jumped at the sound. He hadn't even noticed the man right beside him. He hadn't been paying attention. Wasn't used to _having_ to pay attention. The man beside him was one of the coaches. Hadley blinked. Was he talking to _him_? Why? Didn't he have better things to do? Other people who needed … well, coaching?

The man smiled a little, nodding towards the room full of people. "It takes some getting used to – the sheer number of people – after being on your own for a while."

A while. That was putting it mildly. But something about the _way_ he had said it made Hadley think twice. He shook his head. "I live in the city. I'm used to people."

The man chuckled a little. "Sure. You're used to there being a lot of people _around_ – nearby, at least. But that's different than being expected to interact with them. Having people walk by – that's different than actually sitting down with someone and striking up a conversation."

Hadley shook his head. "Is that what we're supposed to do? _Talk_ to each other? I thought we were supposed to be preparing to kill each other."

"It does seem a bit strange – how quick most of them have been to get to know each other," the man agreed. "But maybe that's human nature. Even in the worst of situations – maybe _especially_ in the worst of situations – we crave contact. Interaction. Support. It's strange, but it's true."

Maybe. But it wasn't enough to _want_ contact. To want to talk to someone else. Who would want to talk to him? Who wouldn't be scared away when they found out what he could do?

"Some of them might be afraid," the man nodded. "But others … well, you might be surprised how many others are thinking the same thing."

Hadley took a step backwards. "Did you…"

The man chuckled. "They probably thought it was an odd request – turning on the fans in this weather. But even that small a breeze is enough when thoughts are this strong. It's a bit overwhelming, but … well, I might be able to give you some idea of who else is just as worried as you that their powers might frighten others away."

Hadley hesitated. But only for a moment. "Who?"

Vincent nodded towards a girl in the corner.

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 57**

Everything was going even better than she had expected.

Lillian smiled a little as she watched the little groups that were beginning to form. She'd thought that the contestants might need a little coaxing – a little time to warm up to each other – before they would really start to interact. And a few of them still lingered on the edges of the room, understandably reluctant to get involved. But most of them…

Most of them were at least talking to the others. Maybe the idea of meeting other mutants was simply too inviting to pass up. Maybe they were already thinking ahead and had realized that forming a group might be a good survival strategy. Or maybe … maybe it was simply human nature to seek out others and socialize – even in as intense a situation as this.

Or maybe _especially_ in as intense a situation as this. Life-or-death experiences had a way of bringing people together – even people who wouldn't normally speak to each other if they were sitting on a bus together. But that interaction – that closeness – was going to make the Games even better an experiment than she had initially anticipated.

Because most people – human or mutant – could accept the idea of killing strangers for their own survival. Wars continued because of that very principle. It was easier to rationalize killing when the enemy was a nameless, faceless stranger. But when they had a face, a name, a life – that was harder.

Which made what they were attempting a gamble. Letting the contestants get to know each other would almost certainly mean it would be harder to convince them to fight. But if they _did_ fight, it would make them seem all the more dangerous, more callous, more inhuman, to the audience at home.

But only if it worked.

* * *

" _Fight with you? Join the team? ... Who the hell do you think you are? You're a mutant. The whole world out there is full of people who hate and fear you."_


	12. The Right Side

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games

 **Note:** And here's the last of our pre-training chapters. Yay! Training is up next, so if you have any alliance preferences and haven't let me know yet, please do. Alliances are starting to fall into place, but there's still room for a little shifting if you've got a suggestion.

* * *

 **The Right Side**

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

"Why her?"

Ian shook his head as Hadley made his way over to where Rosalind sat in a corner by herself. Vincent seemed to have sent him in the younger girl's direction, but why? "What could they possibly have in common?"

Vincent shook his head. "It's not always about what people have in common. What do the two of _us_ have in common?"

Ian opened his mouth to answer, but there was none – not really. Aside from the fact that they were both mutants – and both teachers – he and Vincent had little in common. Certainly their lives before meeting Professor Xavier couldn't have been more different. Ian had always seen his power as a gift. He'd used the extra hours available to him at night to study for extra classes and graduate from both high school and college early. Vincent, on the other hand…

Vincent shook his head, smiling a little. "I'm not looking for sympathy, Ian. I wouldn't trade the life I've had for anything. It made me who I am. I only meant that the three of us – you, Maria, and me – make a good team. And it's not because of what we have in common. It's because of our _differences_."

"So you steered him towards Rosalind because they're different?"

"In a way. It's human nature to seek out people like us. It would be easier to steer him towards others like him – teens who have been living on the streets, who've had to fend for themselves for years. They would have a similar perspective. They would probably agree on a lot of things."

"But…"

"But agreeing isn't always the best thing for a group – particularly in a survival situation. If they're going to form groups, they have a better chance if those groups have different ideas. Different opinions. They need to _think_ , not just act. To consider their alternatives. And that won't happen if they all have the same background, the same opinion."

Ian nodded. Maybe that made sense. "But why her?" he asked. "There are other people he wouldn't have much in common with. What made you pick Rosalind?"

"The fact that they do have _something_ in common."

"And what's that?"

Vincent shook his head. "They were both worried no one would want them."

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

She hadn't thought anyone would want to work with her.

Rosalind glanced up, surprised, as an older boy sat down directly across from her. "I'm Hadley," he mumbled without any other sort of introduction. "What's your name?"

"Rosalind," she answered hesitantly. "Or Rosa, if you like. Either one, really." She had to stop herself from continuing. She was nervous. But she couldn't let it show. Not with so many others around.

So many other _mutants_ around. As far as she knew, she'd _never_ met another mutant. Now there were thirty of them. Well, thirty-three, counting the coaches. But thirty of them who were part of the Games. Who were expected to…

Rosalind swallowed hard. She didn't want to think about that. Not yet. She'd finished her postcard for her parents, doing her best to sound optimistic. _I'll be home soon_ , she'd said. But in order to do that, she would have to survive the Games.

And in order to survive the Games, she would have to kill.

"Who's the postcard for?" Hadley asked quietly.

"My family." Silence. "My parents and my brother and sister." More silence. "Did you write one?"

Hadley shook his head. "No one to write to, really."

Rosalind bit her lip. Had she said the wrong thing? How was she supposed to know he didn't have a family? Besides, he was the one who had asked about the postcard. What was she supposed to do?

Hadley ran his fingers along the table. "I was wondering if … if you might want to work with me – in the Games. If you wanted to work together – a group of sorts. If you don't, I … I understand. I wouldn't want to…"

He trailed off. Wouldn't want to what? Rosalind eyed him suspiciously. Had one of the others put him up to this? "Why me?"

"The coaches thought … well, I guess it doesn't matter what they thought. I just thought … I thought you might want to be alone."

That was certainly true. She _didn't_ want to be alone. But she hadn't missed the first part of his reasoning. "What did the coaches tell you?" Had they told him what she could do?

Hadley shook his head. "Just that … well, that you were worried, too. That your power might frighten people away."

Rosalind clenched her fists. She _had_ been worried about that. But hearing him say it didn't make it any better. "And you … you're not worried?"

"I was."

"Why? What do you…?" She stopped herself before she could finish the thought. _What do you do?_ She'd never asked another mutant about their powers before. She'd never been in a position to. Was it okay to ask?

Hadley drummed his fingers on the table. "I … I don't even know, really. But when I'm around, things … they get changed. Warped, somehow. I can't control it. These collars … this is the first time in years I've really known what's real and … well, what's in my head." He shook his head. "So what do you do? It can't be much scarier than that."

"When I hurt people, they … they don't feel it."

Hadley raised an eyebrow. "Why would _that_ scare people?"

"I…" She hesitated. Should she tell him? She'd never told anyone, really, how afraid she was of her own power. But if anyone would understand, it was another mutant. "I accidentally pushed a boy out of a tree once. His legs were broken, but he didn't even feel it. He tried to stand – ended up making things worse. It took him a lot longer to recover than it would have if … well, if it hadn't been for me. I could stab someone, and they could bleed to death and never know it. How could anyone trust me when … when I can do that?"

Hadley shook his head. "You take away pain. We're going into the Games to kill, Rosa. If you can give someone a _painless_ death … well, isn't that a good thing?"

Maybe. Maybe it was. It would be better if they didn't have to die at all, of course. But if they did…

Maybe he was right.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Maybe they had the right idea.

Natasha couldn't help staring as the groups of mutants began to trickle back into the cafeteria for lunch. Some of them were smiling. One was even giggling a little. A group of four – two girls and two boys – seemed to be having a good time, chatting as they were given their meals, smiling and nodding along with each other. Were they planning? Trying to figure out a strategy for the Games? Or were they simply swapping stories of what their lives were like?

What their lives _had_ been like.

Natasha shook her head. She didn't want to start thinking like that. It wasn't as if their lives were over. Not yet. Maybe most of them were going to die, but maybe…

Maybe it was all an elaborate joke. A prank. Or maybe it was some sort of test. Maybe they really _were_ just trying to figure out whether mutants _would_ fight, given the chance. But that didn't seem to be what the group of mutants was banking on. They were all sweating. They were tired, out of breath. They'd clearly been training. And they hadn't just been doing that for fun.

Had they?

Natasha tried her best to smile as she went to get her own lunch, then took a seat near the group of four, trying her best to listen. But, as far as she could tell, they were simply talking about each other. Finding common ground. Common ground that—

"I'll never understand why you have to put so much salt on _everything_ ," one of the girls insisted, shaking her head. "How can you even tell what the _food_ tastes like?"

One of the boys laughed a little. "From the look of it, it's probably a _good_ thing you can't taste it. You'd think that if they really want us to be ready for a fight, they might feed us better."

Natasha couldn't stop herself from laughing a little. The younger boy turned around, maybe surprised to hear someone else laughing at their joke. "Why don't you come join us?"

Natasha glanced at the others. They looked a bit more hesitant than the boy, but the younger girl finally nodded. "Yeah. Come sit with us."

 _Come sit with us_. As if they were all back in high school, and they were inviting her to sit at the popular kids' table. Natasha held back a giggle as she joined them. "So you are…?"

"Cassidy," the younger girl answered. "This is Isadore, Juliska, and Ben."

"Natasha. Are you four … working together?"

The four of them glanced at each other. Maybe they hadn't decided that yet. Maybe they were still trying to figure out whether they were actually a group. Or maybe they simply didn't want to give away their strategy. Either way, it seemed to have been the wrong question.

It was the older boy, Ben, who finally answered. "Training together, at least. We all have the same coach, so we figured we could get in more training time if—"

"If you helped each other out."

"Exactly."

Maybe that made sense. Maybe it was only natural for contestants with the same coach to join each other. But did that mean that she couldn't join them? They'd let her eat lunch with them. But did that really mean anything, or were they just trying to be polite?

Why did it have to be so complicated?

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

Why did people have to be so complicated?

Reese drummed his fingers on the table as the other contestants finished their meals. Most were silent – even those who were sitting with another contestant or two. There was a group of five chatting in a corner, and a few smaller groups talking quietly, but most of them didn't seem to be in the mood for chit-chat.

He couldn't blame them much for that, he supposed. Even those who seemed to be chatting happily – were they actually as oblivious as they seemed to be, or were they trying to make light of the situation because they weren't sure how else to cope? And the ones who were sitting by themselves – did they simply not want company, or were they worried that no one else would want to talk to them when they were about to fight each other to the death?

"Sucks, doesn't it."

Reese glanced up as a boy about his age – maybe a little younger – sat down beside him. The boy shook his head. "We finally get to meet other mutants – other people just like us – and what are we expected to do? Kill each other. That's just typical, isn't it," he finished with a chuckle.

Reese nodded uneasily. What was he supposed to say? "Yeah, it's—"

"—totally, unfair! I know. How do they expect us to be able to kill each other? How would they like it if we took thirty of _them_ and put _them_ in a death match? Give them a weapon, and they're just as dangerous as any of us!"

That was certainly true – at least for someone like him. "What I do isn't even dangerous," he offered, shaking his head. "I … I understand different languages. Spoken languages, written languages, computer code. Where's the danger in that?"

"Exactly. And that girl who was changing other people's words around this morning – sure, that's a bit annoying, but it's not dangerous."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I mean, I guess it could be dangerous, in a tense situation or something. If it was a life or death thing and someone was giving instructions that got messed up. But just making someone do a little Dr. Seuss—"

"What are you _talking_ about?"

It took the boy a moment to put it together. "Wait. You didn't even notice anything out of the ordinary this morning, did you."

Reese shook his head. "Aside from the fact that they told us we're part of a fight to the death?"

The boy smirked a little. "Yeah, aside from that."

"No. What happened?"

"You don't remember one of the coaches reciting _Green Eggs and Ham_?"

"I remember him shouting. But … no."

"Interesting. So you … you translated that – from complete gibberish – without even thinking about it. Cool."

Reese smiled a little. Maybe it was cool. It wasn't even something that he thought about, though – or something he had any sort of control over. He couldn't turn it on and off like a switch; his brain automatically translated _everything_. Even if he didn't _want_ to understand what someone was saying, he did.

But the other boy seemed fascinated. So maybe this was a chance to ask. Reese smiled a little.

"So what do you do?"

* * *

 **Rory Cunningham, 15**

"So what do you do?"

Rory tried his best to hide the panic that was probably obvious, nonetheless, on the older version of his face. He'd thought that if he looked a bit older, maybe … well, maybe some of the other contestants would be more likely to accept him. To offer to help. He'd thought about going younger, instead – trying to earn their sympathy – but had decided against it. Trying to appear useful was going to be more … well, useful … once the others realized that even the youngest of kids were still competition.

Competition. He didn't _want_ to be competition. No, that wasn't quite right. Usually, he did. He loved competition. But competition had always meant playing _sports_ , not fighting other people to the death. Other _mutants_. Other mutants with powers much, much deadlier than his own.

He'd seen them outside, after all. Two of them could manipulate water, one could create fire, and another seemed to be controlling heat. Compared to that, what good was being able to change his appearance to an older version of himself? Sure, it made him a little taller. He looked a little more intimidating, maybe. But it didn't do anything about the fact that, aside from that, his power was completely useless.

But he couldn't admit that – not if he wanted the other boy to work with him. He'd been looking for someone who would be the right fit. Someone who would be useful, but wouldn't expect too much out of him physically. And a guy who could translate any language – even complete nonsense – could be _very_ useful. He could completely make up a language, and they would still be able to understand each other perfectly.

But what did _he_ have to offer?

"I can control the weather," he blurted out before he'd even had a chance to think his lie through. "They must've turned my collar on so I can't … well, sweep the building away in a tornado or something. But once we're in the Games, they'll have to let us use our powers again, right?"

"You would think so," the other boy agreed. "Otherwise, they aren't really proving that mutant powers are dangerous – just that anyone put in a life-or-death situation will make … rash choices."

Rash choices. Like the choice to lie to the boy in front of him. Rory shook the thought from his head. They were about to be fighting to the death. Killing each other. What was one little lie compared to that? If that was what it took for him to survive…

"What's your name?" the other boy asked.

"Rory."

"Reese."

Rory smiled a little. "Good to meet you, Reese."

Just then, a voice interrupted, and Rory looked up, startled, as a young woman slid into a seat beside him.

"May I join you?"

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

"May I join you?"

Victoria smiled as sweetly as she could, hoping it would be enough to make up for the fact that, as far as she could tell, her powers were completely useless now. Obviously, the people in charge were being careful. After all, if she had her power, she could simply instruct one of the guards to let her go. It would be so easy. So simple. Hell, afterwards she might even have time to tell him to kill the people in charge of this whole stupid disaster.

Victoria did her best to smile. It wouldn't be the first time her words had caused someone's death. The other time, of course, had been an accident. She and her sister had been arguing, and, in the heat of the moment, she'd told her sister to do them all a favor and go die.

That same night, her sister had killed herself.

No. No, if something like that happened again, she would make sure it wasn't an accident. If she killed again – or persuaded someone to kill themselves – it would be deliberate. She wasn't going to make the same mistake. She'd learned the harm a careless word could do.

But a word in the right place…

"Sure," one of the boys answered. "The more, the merrier."

That wasn't entirely true, of course. After all, they were here to fight each other. The more some of them banded together, the more protection they might have. But that came at a cost. The more they kept other people around them, the greater the chance that they might end up being a target … or end up being killed by the very people they had been sure they could trust.

Because, in the end, each of them was going to look out for themselves first. It was just human nature. If she could convince these two to help her, then she would … but she wasn't about to risk her life for them. Wasn't about to sacrifice her chances to try to make theirs better.

A boy who could control the weather, though … that was useful, certainly. He already seemed to be friendly with the other boy, but there was no reason the three of them couldn't work together. "I couldn't help but overhear," she chimed in. "You control the weather?"

The boy nodded – a little nervously, she thought. Then again, maybe a little nervousness was in order, considering what they'd been told this morning. "What about you?" the boy asked.

Victoria smiled. She had an answer, of course. She had to. She wasn't _about_ to tell the people she was working with what her power _really_ was. If they knew, they'd never risk joining up with her, knowing they could be manipulated at any moment into doing anything she wanted.

"I can see the future," Victoria answered vaguely. A lie, but a carefully-chosen one that would be difficult for them to disprove. "At least, I usually can, but for some reason I can't seem to be able to—"

"The collars," the other boy nodded. "Apparently, if they're turned on, they can block our abilities."

Victoria nodded. "And yours is…?"

The boy shook his head. "I can understand different languages. Might not be all that impressive compared to controlling the weather or seeing what's about to happen, but—"

"I think it's perfect," Victoria interrupted. A lie, but it was always good for people to feel useful. "If we don't want people to be able to tell what we're saying, we could just speak nonsense, and you'd still be able to understand." Which was true, of course, but if it didn't work the other way around, what good was it?

Still, the boy grinned and introduced himself. Reese. And the other boy was Rory. It felt good to talk to people again, even if she still couldn't control them. Once they were in the Games, the people in charge would have to turn the collars off.

Wouldn't they?

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

They would have to turn the collars off eventually.

Cyrene sat quietly in a corner, watching. Watching as the others ate their lunch – some in groups, some preferring to spend their time alone. She'd thought about going back to her room – to her cell – but that seemed even worse. Without the company of her clones…

She could talk to the others, of course. But that came with a risk. If she started getting too close, that could be dangerous. It was safer to spend her time alone. It was safer not to get involved.

But it was also much lonelier.

Cyrene swallowed hard, trying to force down her lunch. But everything tasted so stale, so empty. It had been such a long time since she'd felt this lonely. Since she'd felt lonely at all. She had friends, but she'd never realized just how much she'd come to rely on her clones when her friends weren't available. She'd never had to worry about being able to find someone to talk to.

Of course, _finding_ someone wasn't really the issue right now. There were twenty-nine other mutants. But would they want to talk to her? Did she want to talk to them? The idea of talking to someone else – someone else like _her_ – was tempting. But if what they had been told was true, most of them would be dead soon.

 _She_ could be dead soon.

One of the people nearby might be the one to kill her.

 _Breathe._ She couldn't let them see just how terrified she was. Normally, her fear-clone would have emerged by now. Instead, all of that terror was bottled up inside her. She'd almost forgotten what it was like – having to deal with those feelings, rather than simply projecting them onto her clone. Was this what the others were feeling?

How could they stand it?

Because most of them _did_ seem to be handling it … if not well, then at least peacefully. Ever since the initial shock and rage after Vincent had broken the news, there hadn't been much argument. Much complaining. Maybe … well, maybe they realized that complaining wouldn't do any good. That there wasn't anyone to complain _to_ – at least, no one who would give a damn.

Or maybe they were waiting. Waiting for the right time. Waiting to catch everyone off guard. Waiting for their collars to be turned off.

That was the trump card, of course. There might be mutants in the room who could tear the building to shreds or vaporize their guards with a mere thought. But as long as they controlled the collars, they controlled everyone. Without their powers…

Without her powers, she was just a normal, teenage girl. Cyrene took a few deep breaths. It had been so long since she'd considered herself normal. She wasn't even sure what that meant anymore. Who had she been before discovering her mutation?

Who was she now?

Cyrene clenched her fists. Whoever she was now, it was _her_ choice. Not theirs. They could take away her powers, but that didn't mean they would be able to frighten her into submission. If she wanted to talk to the others, she could. If she wanted to get to know them … well, where was the harm? It wasn't as if she was committing to working with them.

She just wanted someone to talk to.

* * *

 **Ryden O' Lore, 17**

"You looked like you could use someone to talk to."

Ryden glanced up, surprised, as a girl slipped into the seat across from him. He hadn't particularly wanted to talk to anyone. And he certainly hadn't expected anyone to come talk to _him_. He hadn't really expected anyone to notice him at all. He'd spent the last few years learning how to blend in; there was a part of him that was surprised she'd even noticed him.

But he nodded, anyway. No harm in being polite. It wasn't as if she was hurting anything. Not as if she was going to hurt him.

Until they were in the Games.

 _Stop it._ He couldn't start thinking of everyone else as the enemy. The other mutants in the room – they weren't the real enemy. The real enemy was the MAAB. The people in charge of the Games. Maybe the government itself.

That was a frightening thought. Because he'd always assumed that, if the Sentinels came for him, they'd take his family, too. His father. He'd figured the two of them would simply disappear. Instead, he was being allowed to contact his family. To let his father know that he was still alive – for now, at least.

Which meant the government didn't _care_ that their families knew they'd been taken. That they might tell others. If they meant to go public with what they were doing – to tell the world about the Games – then that meant they were convinced the people would accept it. They would tolerate it. Maybe even support it.

And that was even more frightening.

It was obvious, of course, that there were some people in the government who were afraid of mutants. And certainly there were people across the country who were frightened. But there were also some who had opposed the idea of mutant registration. Who had spoken out. This … this meant the government wasn't worried about them – or what they might do. They were convinced that those who would sympathize with the mutants were a small portion of the population.

Were they right?

"Hm?" the girl across from him asked, as if waiting for an answer.

Had she been talking? Had she asked him something? _Shit._ What was he supposed to say? "What?" Ryden asked. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"Don't sweat it; I think we're all a bit shaken up," the girl admitted. "I just asked what your name was."

"Ryden."

"I'm Cyrene. Where are you from?"

A perfectly normal question. But one he'd never really been able to answer well. For the last few years, he and his father had been on the move pretty much constantly. There wasn't anywhere he could really call 'home' anymore. Even if he put their last address on the postcard he'd jotted a few rambling sentences on, would the letter really make it to his father? Or had he fled again – this time on his own?

"Missouri." Anything else would require more of an explanation, and he didn't feel up to that. "What about you?"

"Boston."

Ryden smiled a little. It felt strangely good to have a normal conversation. Well, about as normal as anything was likely to get.

As normal as anything in his life was likely to be again.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

It was almost frightening how quickly they'd accepted this as normal.

Parker drummed her fingers on the table, shaking her head. She'd avoided trying to get a glimpse of the future, because she'd been afraid of what she might find. She never would have anticipated this. Almost everyone was sitting around, eating dinner. A few of the mutants were still sitting alone, but everyone else … they were talking. Interacting. Acting … well, like normal kids, in a normal cafeteria.

But this was anything but normal.

Parker stood up and made her way out of the room. Down the hall, back towards her cell. One of the guards followed – probably to make sure she didn't try to run.

As if there was anywhere _to_ run. Whoever was in charge, they'd chosen their location well. This was probably the only building for a hundred miles or so – maybe more. Anyone who tried to escape would be dead soon.

Of course, they would be dead soon, anyway, if the people in charge had their way. If everyone went along with the Games. And so far, no one really showed any signs of resisting. No one seemed particularly interested in _killing_ each other, of course, but most of them were hiding their aversion to the idea.

Maybe they were simply trying to process the idea. Maybe they hoped that, if they ignored it long enough, it would go away. That maybe if they played nice, the MAAB would realize how wrong they were to think they could force them into killing each other. That maybe they would let them all go.

But there was no escaping this. She didn't need her powers to tell that. The government would never have gone forward with something so audacious if they weren't certain of its success. Whatever they planned to do to convince them to kill each other, they were confident that it would work. That people would go along with it.

And why not? People had gone along with the Mutant Registration Act, convinced that it was necessary in order to control more dangerous mutants. They had gone along with the Sentinel Program in the interest of keeping _humans_ safe. Even when the Sentinels had become more violent, few people had spoken out.

Why would they speak out now?

Parker took a deep breath as she stepped back into her cell, the door closing loudly behind her. A window looked out into the growing dark. Maybe that was supposed to be comforting, but it only served as a reminder of just how far she was from home. How far she was from anyone who could help her.

No one was going to help her. No one was going to help any of them. The public wasn't going to rescue them. The government certainly wasn't going to save them. Their families didn't even know where they were – and probably wouldn't even know where they'd been taken until it was too late.

They were on their own.

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

Maybe he was better on his own.

John shook his head as he toyed with his dinner. No one had come to sit with him. Not during breakfast, or during lunch, or now. They'd all started to form their own little groups, but no one seemed interested in talking to him – the man who had yelled at Vincent earlier. Maybe that made sense. Better not to get on their coaches' bad side. And it wasn't as if he particularly _wanted_ their company.

Not really. Normally, maybe. But not now that they had found out what this really was. If he was going to have to kill them in a few days, then maybe it was better not to get to know them. Better not to get attached.

No sooner had he made up his mind to get up and go back to his room, however, than a girl sat down beside him. "You're John, right?"

John nodded. She'd probably heard his name earlier, when he'd told Vincent to make him sit down. Stupid thing to say, maybe, but he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd been angry.

And he'd had every right to be angry. They were about to be forced to fight each other to the death. Whatever pressure might be on the coaches, _they_ weren't the ones who were going to die. Besides, if they couldn't handle being yelled at, how were they going to handle it when their contestants started dying?

"And you are…?" John prompted. He hadn't exactly expected anyone to come join him. In fact, he'd been about to leave…

"Clara. Nice to meet you."

"Bullshit."

Clara couldn't help smiling a little. "Fair enough. The circumstances suck. I just wanted to say, I thought that was brave – what you did earlier. Standing up to them. I mean, you didn't know they were on our side … if they're even on our side."

"If there _is_ even an 'our' side," John countered. "We can't exactly be on each other's side anymore – not if they want us to kill each other."

"That's the point," Clara agreed. "They're trying to divide us. Split us up. I mean, look at everyone." She gestured around the room. Most of the contestants had already divided themselves up into nice, neat little groups. "They don't even have to do anything. We're splitting ourselves up for them."

John shrugged. "Yeah, but what do you plan to do about it? You can't exactly stop people from forming groups. From talking to each other. It's human nature."

Clara shook her head. " _Human_ nature," she spat bitterly. "Yeah, I guess it is. And you're right; I don't think we can stop them. So maybe … well, maybe we should do the same thing."

"We?" Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? "As in, you and me."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, you don't even know what I can do – and I don't know what you can do, either."

Clara's face went a little red. "Does it matter?"

John hesitated a moment. She was getting defensive. Why? Could her power be that useless? He shrugged. "Tell you what. I'll go first. I can change into a bear."

"A bear," she repeated. "Like, you physically change into—"

"—a bear," John confirmed. "Just a regular old bear. Fur. Paws. I'm still me, just … a bear. So. What've you got?"

Clara looked away, as if deciding. Deciding whether or not to tell him. Whether or not to trust him. John waited, not quite sure what to expect. Had he just spilled his secret for nothing?

But then Clara answered. "I … I can control people's bodies. Stop them from moving. Make them move, if I want them to. Not too many – two or three at a time, maybe. I've never really tried it with more than three." She shook her head.

"Still want to work with me?"

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

"Still want to work with me?"

Clara waited. She had no idea what he might say. She'd wanted to see if she could get him to work with her without revealing what it was that she could do. Because if she told him … what would he think? What would _anyone_ think if they knew the person sitting beside them could seize control of their body at any moment? Would anyone really want to team up with _her_?

But, to her surprise, John smiled. "Absolutely. Why _wouldn't_ I?"

"Because I can … you know … take over your body if I—"

John shrugged. "Well, sure, but that's true whether I'm working with you or not. I'd much rather have you on my side than against me."

She hadn't thought about it that way. "And I'd much rather have a bear on my side than against me," she offered. "I just … thank you."

John shook his head. "For what?"

"For not being afraid of … of what I can do." The words came out much more hesitantly than she'd meant. She'd always assumed that if she told people about her abilities, they would be afraid. Afraid of what she might do. Afraid that she might someday decide to use them for something more dangerous than making the class bully trip over his own feet.

But now … now that they were in a situation where she would _have_ to use her powers for something _far_ more dangerous – in a situation where she would expect people to be even _more_ afraid – John wasn't afraid at all.

Of course, _she_ hadn't been scared when he'd said he could turn into a bear. And she wasn't just pretending. That sounded … fun. "You'll have to show me tomorrow – your bear, that is."

John shrugged. "Only if you show me your puppetry."

Puppetry. She'd never really thought about calling it that before. Never really had a name for it at all. But puppetry … that sounded good. Sounded like she was in control.

She wasn't, though. None of them were. None of them could control what was going on. What was about to happen. They could only control what they did. How they responded to it.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence. But it was a good silence. A welcome silence. She hadn't expected anyone to be so quick to team up with her. To help her. She'd thought that she might have to worry about the others being afraid of her. Or being afraid that the others might want to kill her.

But John – he'd been against the idea from the start. He'd been just as upset as the rest of them – even more so – when he'd learned the real purpose of the Games. He probably wasn't going to be the one to start the fighting. The killing.

The question, of course, was who _would._ No one in the room seemed eager to start fighting and killing each other. Who _would_ be? Did the government really expect them to simply plunge right in and start fighting? Did they have something up their sleeves – some way to make the contestants fight?

Or were they just making it up as they went, just like the rest of them? They hadn't seemed to consider that it might be a good idea to give them a day to come to terms with what was going on before their training began. If the rest of the Games were that haphazard…

Clara pushed her empty plate away. That wasn't her problem. How they ran the Games wasn't her problem. Whether everyone else started killing each other – even that wasn't really her problem. If they didn't, and the Games fell apart … well, all the better. But if they _did_ start killing, then she would have to be ready.

And she finally felt like she might be.

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63**

"Are they going to be ready?"

Nicholas glanced around at the faces in the room. Alvin and Lillian had been watching the contestants practically all day; their opinion was certainly valuable. But, at the moment, he was more interested in what Ian, Maria, and Vincent might say.

It was Maria who spoke up first. "I think they're ready to start training, yes. A few of them already started working with me."

"And working _together_ ," Lillian put in. "You might have to revise your schedule a little bit if you're going to be working with groups rather than individuals."

"Some of them might not want to train together," Vincent pointed out.

Ian cocked an eyebrow. "Why not? More of them working together means more time with us. What's the harm?"

Vincent shook his head. "Some of them have been lying to each other about what they can do. Claiming to have powers that would be more useful – or simply less frightening."

"Why?" Maria asked. "They have to know everyone will find out eventually."

"They're not thinking about 'eventually.' They're scared. Living from moment to moment. Trying to survive from one minute to the next. They're not thinking clearly."

"Gee, I can't imagine why," Ian scoffed, glaring at Nicholas.

Nicholas shrugged it off. "What if we offer to let them choose whether they want to train individually or in groups?"

"Could cause some tension," Lillian observed. "If some of them choose to train on their own, the others might want to know why – suspect they're hiding something."

Alvin shrugged. "They are."

"Some of them," Maria agreed. "But others might simply feel more comfortable training on their own."

"This isn't about what makes them _comfortable_ ," Vincent reminded them. "They're not going to be _comfortable_ in the arena. This is about what's going to help them the most."

"What's going to help _who_ the most," Ian corrected. "That's the issue we're really skirting around. Do we want to help the contestants who are trying to trick the others, or do we want to help the ones who might benefit from knowing the truth – the ones who might choose other partners if they knew what the others were really hiding?"

For a moment, the group was silent. There was no right answer. No easy solution. Until now, they'd been able to lie to themselves. To pretend that they could help all the contestants equally. But now they would have to choose. Would they choose the contestants who had been clever enough – or desperate enough – to successfully lie to their potential allies, or would they choose to help the ones who had been trusting enough to take them at their word?

Lillian turned to Alvin. "What do you think?"

Alvin chuckled a little. "Oh, no you don't. Psychology is your area."

"And weighing probabilities and making predictions is yours. What do you think?"

Alvin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "All right. Think it through. What happens if we tell them that they simply can't work in groups, that they have to train individually? Less practice, more work for these three, and some of them might begin to question why – especially considering we were perfectly willing to let them work in groups today. They go into the arena with little to no idea of what their partners are actually capable of or how to work together as a group."

"Doesn't seem like a great option," Nicholas nodded.

"Agreed. What happens if we tell them they _have_ to work in groups?"

"Some of them haven't formed a group," Maria pointed out. "If we make it mandatory that they join a group of some sort, they might feel pressured into a group that they don't really work well with. And there might be some who don't want to join a group at all."

Alvin nodded. "And the ones who have been lying to each other will be forced into a position where they _have_ to reveal their secrets. So what happens if we let them choose?"

"I think most of them will choose to work in groups – if they've already found people they want to work with," Ian offered.

"And the ones who don't—" Ian started.

"Will be able to come up with some clever excuse to get out of it," Alvin shrugged. "If they can think on their feet well enough to come up with a clever lie, they can improvise their way around it. And even if they can't – even if they end up getting caught in their lie – that was going to happen _eventually_. Maybe it's better if it happens _now_ , rather than once they're in the arena. At least that way, they still have an opportunity to find someone else to work with, even if their original prospects reject them."

Ian nodded. "That sounds reasonable."

Alvin shrugged. "I usually do."

"Sounds like the best option," Maria agreed. "Vincent?"

Vincent nodded reluctantly. "Can't say I have a better idea."

"We're all agreed, then," Nicholas concluded. "Tomorrow's a big day. Get some rest."

"Or not," Ian offered.

Nicholas smiled a little. "Fair point. If any of the contestants are night owls, they're all yours."

Ian nodded. "There are probably a few who won't be able to sleep tonight, anyway." He shrugged.

"We'll try not to wake you."

* * *

" _Are you sure you're on the right side?"_


	13. Don't Give Up

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Training's finally here! So here's the plan: There are going to be six training chapters - two for each day - and each contestant will have two POVs during training - one in the first batch of three chapters and one in the second. Also, a little bit more from our coaches and the MAAB.

* * *

 **Training Day One  
** **Don't Give Up**

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

He hadn't expected it to be this quiet.

Ian paced the cafeteria slowly as, one after another, the contestants trickled back to their rooms, leaving only two sitting silently alone. Finally, one of them got up and made his way over to Ian. "You're my coach, right?"

Ian nodded. The boy's collar was marked _I-0103,_ so he was definitely one of his. But he didn't quite look like any of the pictures in the files. "It's Rory, right?"

The boy nodded, and Ian relaxed a little. Age manipulation, he remembered. That explained why the boy looked older than the fifteen-year-old in the file. "Can I ask you something?" the boy asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. As if he was worried that the one other contestant in the room might hear him.

"Sure." Ian sat down at the nearest table, and the boy slid into a seat across from him. "What's on your mind?"

The boy looked around. "I can't control the weather."

 _Okay._ Ian shrugged. "Neither can I."

The boy managed a smile. "I told Reese and Victoria that I could."

Ian nodded a little. So he was one of the ones Vincent had mentioned – the ones who had been lying about their powers. But that didn't quite make sense. Rory's power wasn't anything dangerous or threatening. So he asked the obvious question. "Why?"

Rory looked away. "I wanted to seem … useful. Like I had something to contribute to the group. I mean, controlling my age … what good is that, really? Sure, I can make myself older – which makes me a little taller, a little stronger, I guess – but against the sort of powers that the others have … I don't know. Controlling the weather just seemed … cooler, I guess."

Ian nodded. "I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Sure do. Do you want to know what _my_ power is?"

"What?"

"I don't sleep."

Rory raised an eyebrow. Maybe he'd been assuming that the three coaches who were supposed to be teaching them how to control their powers, how to survive, would at least have some formidable powers of their own. "That's it?"

Ian couldn't help a laugh. "That's it. And you know what? I never really thought much about it. Other people needed sleep; I didn't. It was never that big a deal. Didn't even realize it was a mutation until this guy came up to me at my college graduation. I was nineteen – finished high school and college early because … well, you can get a lot more done when you don't need to sleep."

Rory smiled. "I guess so. So what did the guy want?"

"He wanted me to come teach at his school – a school for mutants. I spent the last three years there teaching math."

"Math?" Rory made a face.

Ian chuckled. "I get that a lot. But that's not the point. The point is, this man – this unbelievably powerful telepath – could have picked anybody. There were mutants at the school who … who could lift things with their minds or shoot laser beams out of their eyes. There was one who actually _could_ control the weather. But Professor Xavier … he still wanted _me_ , too. He believed I had something to offer." He leaned forward a little.

"And so do you."

* * *

 **Rory Cunningham, 15**

"And so do you."

Rory smiled a little as he shrank back to his normal fifteen-year-old self. "Even like this?"

Ian nodded. " _Especially_ like this. This is who you are, Rory. This is what you can do. And it's wonderful. You're unique. And anyone who tells you that what you do isn't _good enough_ or isn't _useful_ – they don't deserve to be your friend in the first place."

"But Reese and Victoria—"

"Will find out exactly what you can do eventually – and what you can't. Either they find out now, and you get to decide how, or they find out once you're in the arena and they ask you to conjure some sunlight or some rain to help them out. Which of those sounds like the better option?"

Rory swallowed hard. He was right, of course. He hadn't been thinking that far ahead when he'd told Reese that he could control the weather. And he certainly hadn't expected Victoria to join them. He shook his head. "Didn't you ever wish you could do something a bit more … exciting?"

Ian hesitated. "Once. Only once. The Sentinels came to our school. They tore it apart. The stronger mutants – they were sent outside to try to keep the Sentinels at bay. Maria, Vincent, and I volunteered to help destroy the students' files. We didn't want the government to get their hands on that sort of information. But the others … they couldn't keep the Sentinels busy forever. One of them found us … along with the Professor."

"What happened?"

Ian shook his head. "That was the one time I wished my power was something that would be more useful in a fight. It tossed us around like rag dolls. Any one of us would have stepped in the way to stop it from killing the Professor. But he wouldn't let us. He froze us while the Sentinel…" He trailed off, his voice beginning to break.

"Is that how you ended up here?" Rory asked.

Ian nodded. "The Sentinel killed the Professor, but took the three of us alive. They wanted teachers. Coaches who could teach you how to use your powers. How to fight. But they got us, instead." He shook his head. "I don't know how much I can help you – how much _any_ of us can help you – but we're going to try."

Rory nodded a little. "Thank you. If I was in your place … well, I don't know if I'd want to help _anyone_."

Ian smiled. "I think you would."

"What makes you say that?"

"The reason you lied about your mutation. You wanted to be useful. You wanted the others to know that you could do something valuable for the group. You want to help them … and you're frustrated because you know that, in the end, you won't be able to. Because only one of you can survive."

Rory shook his head. "Are you sure you can't read minds?"

Ian chuckled. "No. No, I just know how I would feel if I were in your place. If I had been told that Maria, Vincent, and I were supposed to participate in these Games. I'd want to help them, but I'd want to survive. I'd be torn – just like you. Just like all of you. I imagine most of the others feel the same way." He smiled a little.

"Isn't that right, Simon?"

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

"Isn't that right, Simon?"

Simon froze as the other two – Ian and Rory – turned towards him. Maybe he shouldn't have been eavesdropping. They'd been speaking in whispers, but that wasn't enough to stop him from hearing every word – and, apparently, Ian knew it. Simon rose to leave, but, to his surprise, Rory waved him over. "You could hear all that?"

Simon nodded. "That's my mutation – I have good hearing."

Ian scooted over a little, inviting Simon to sit down. "That's better than 'good' hearing, Simon. What you can do is amazing. Don't let anyone tell you different."

Amazing. That wasn't usually the word he would have used. Sure, his power was useful, but compared to what some of the others could do…

Simon shook his head. He'd never considered himself particularly competitive. Normally, he'd say it wasn't a contest. That it didn't matter how his own powers compared to the others'. But it _was_ a contest. That was the whole point. And while being able to eavesdrop on the other contestants' conversations was certainly useful, it wouldn't do him much good in a fight.

But neither would Rory's power – which, as far as he could tell, meant he could make himself look older or younger. And the contestants he was working with – Reese and Victoria – their powers weren't particularly dangerous, either. From what he'd been able to gather earlier in the day, Reese could understand different languages. Not exactly the most frightening power in the room. And Victoria had said that she could see the future. Useful, certainly – and useful for _avoiding_ a fight – but how much good would it actually do once it came to an actual battle to the death? None of their powers were anything that would actually help them _kill_.

Simon glanced up at Ian. "Do you really think either of us has a chance?"

"I don't know," Ian admitted. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't think any of us – or even the people in charge – really have any idea of what to expect. This whole thing is so … unpredictable." He leaned forward a little. "But maybe that's a good thing for you two."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Ian shrugged. "If you were looking at the thirty contestants and wanted to pick someone to go after first – a threat to eliminate – who would you pick? Who's the biggest threat? Someone who can create fire or take control of your mind … or someone who has good hearing?"

"So we're not anyone's first target," Simon nodded. "So what? If this thing goes the way they want it to, _everyone's_ going to be a target eventually. Not having a threatening power – maybe that'll keep us alive for a while, but, eventually, we'll have to fight."

"You're right," Ian agreed. "There's no avoiding that. But there's one other thing that might keep you alive." He lowered his voice. "Whoever survives this thing … they get to live. I'm not sure exactly what they plan to do with the survivor, but if you were in charge … would you want to deal with someone with a dangerous power, or a survivor who doesn't really pose a threat?"

"You're saying they might try to make sure someone like us wins?"

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. But look at who they picked as coaches. The three of us aren't dangerous – and I don't think that's an accident. I don't know how much say they'll have in who survives this, but I do know they probably wouldn't consider you a threat if you won." He shook his head.

"So I wouldn't give up just yet."

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

He'd given up on trying to get any sleep.

Ky rolled over again as the light began streaming into his cell – not from the window, but from the door that led to the hallway. Soon, the door slid open, and he was led down the hall along with the others – back to the room where they had all gathered the day before. Vincent, Maria, and Ian were at the front of the room once more, waiting for them.

The noise quieted down a bit quicker than the day before. Almost everyone was listening. Waiting. Waiting to see what sort of announcement the new day would bring. Ky leaned back in his seat. Nothing good, certainly. Most of them would probably never hear any good news again.

 _That's not helping._ Even if it was unavoidable, focusing on the fact that twenty-nine of them were going to die wasn't going to help anyone. And it certainly wasn't going to help him. So Ky clenched his fists and turned his attention to Vincent, who was handing out sheets of paper.

"These are the times we've set up for training with the three of us," Vincent explained. "Everyone has an hour time slot between eight in the morning and six thirty in the evening, with a break from noon until twelve thirty for lunch. Before eight or after six thirty, you're welcome to approach any of the three of us for help. If you'd like to bring another contestant or two to your time slot to practice together, you're welcome to – but you don't _have_ to. There will be food provided throughout the day, so feel free to eat at any point when you're not training … or, I suppose, if you'd like to bring food to your session, there's nothing stopping you from doing that, either."

That got a few chuckles, but didn't do much to lighten the mood, so Vincent continued. "Before and after your time slot, you're welcome to practice on your own, or with others, or simply return to your rooms. If you find a particular coach isn't working out for you, let us know, and we'll either swap or arrange a different time for you to train with a different coach. If there's anything else we can do to help you, _please_ let us know."

Ky rolled his eyes as Vincent proceeded to give directions to where he, Maria, and Ian would be conducting their individual sessions. As much as they might pretend to want to help everyone, the truth was that they couldn't afford to get attached. There were thirty contestants for them to worry about. Twenty-nine of them were going to die. If they truly cared for each one…

But that wasn't his problem. Ky turned the sheet of paper over in his hands. His session wasn't until four thirty. He would have plenty of time to practice on his own. And maybe that was better. How much were the three of them really going to be able to help him, anyway? What could they teach him in a few days that he hadn't learned from years of practicing with Quinn?

Quinn. Ky crumpled the paper in his hands. If he was going to have any hope of getting back to her, he would have to get their attention. He would have to stand out. Thirty of them were going into the Games. Only one was coming out.

And if he wanted it to be him, he had a lot of work to do.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

"I'm not sure exactly what it is you want to work on."

Tariq gave a shrug as he, Cameron, and his coach, Maria, took a seat on the floor. Neither his power nor Cameron's was something that required a lot of room, so they'd decided they might as well practice inside where it was warm. But _what_ , exactly, they were supposed to practice, he still wasn't certain. When he received only a smile from Maria in response to his confusion, he continued. "I'm already pretty good at doing … well, nothing."

Maria shook her head. "What you do isn't nothing. It may look that way on the outside, but think about it. When you go into your … trance … do you eat?"

Tariq shook his head. When he tuned out for more than a day or so, he usually woke up a bit hungry, but, aside from that, he'd never suffered any ill effects. "No. So my body … conserves energy when I'm using my power?"

Maria nodded. "I'd say so. And that's _definitely_ not nothing, especially if food is scarce in the arena. And especially in the cold, being able to conserve energy – and body heat – that could give you an edge."

An edge. An advantage. She was still thinking of this as a fight. And maybe that was her job. But he didn't want to fight. He had never wanted to fight. Right now, the idea of simply slipping into one of his states and waiting out the Games – waiting for the end – certainly didn't sound like the worst option.

Or, at least, it wouldn't, if it weren't for Cameron. After learning that they could invite other contestants to their sessions, he'd immediately asked Cameron to accompany him. And why not? He'd enjoyed the younger boy's company the day before, and it wasn't as if either of them would distract the other from using their power…

"Cameron's power could be useful if food is scarce, as well," Tariq pointed out. "He could eat pretty much anything and survive."

Cameron nodded. "So it sounds like the best idea is to get away from everyone else, find somewhere to hide, and … well, wait, I guess."

Maria nodded a little. "Maybe. But that … that's not going to work forever. You know that, right?"

Cameron nodded, but his face was growing pale. Tariq slipped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "So what would you suggest?"

Maria leaned forward a little. "I would say that if we're going to practice something, it shouldn't be how to slip _into_ a trance. You already seem to be pretty good at that. It sounds like what you actually need to practice is being able to come _out_ of one when you need to. Because if someone _does_ find you – or if Cameron happens to see someone coming while you're in one of your states – then you need to be able to wake up fight – or leave – quickly."

 _Or leave._ She had added that option on purpose, he knew. She was trying to make her idea sound more appealing. Less like a battle plan and more like an escape plan. Tariq smiled a little. He had to give her credit for trying, at least. "So where should we start?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Maria admitted. "What usually gets you to wake up?"

Tariq thought for a moment. Certainly not an alarm clock; he'd learned that early on. Other people shaking him didn't usually seem to do much good, either. None of the things that woke other people up seemed to do the trick – at least not consistently. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't know."

Maria smiled a little. "Okay, then. Now we know where to start."

* * *

 **Diana Pierri, 17**

"I guess we both know where to start."

Diana nodded a little. With her collar turned on the night before, sleeping had been an unusually solitary experience. Several times during the night, she'd woken up, and now she couldn't stop yawning. Was that why Ian had scheduled her session early in the morning? Had he figured she could use some extra sleep?

"But if none of the others are asleep…" She let that thought hang in the air for a moment. If none of the others were asleep, whose dreams was she supposed to enter? She had invited Piper along, but it didn't seem fair to ask her new friend to volunteer as … what? A guinea pig of sorts?

Ian smiled a little, and nodded to an older man who was standing by the door. "You can turn it on, Alvin."

On? Turn what on? But then the man pressed a button, and Ian's own collar gave a little flash. Ian swayed a little, then sank down onto the floor, barely managing to stay upright. Diana knelt next to him, startled. "Are you all right?"

Ian nodded. "Perfectly. It's just that … _my_ power, you see, is that I don't _need_ to sleep. Ever. So one of the first things we figured out when they turned this darn thing on is that my body instantly thinks it needs to catch up on … well, twenty-two years of missed sleep." He yawned a little, lying down. "So I guess we should get started." He closed his eyes, and, as far as Diana could tell, was asleep almost immediately.

Diana couldn't help a little giggle as she lay down, too, and closed her eyes. Waited. Rolled over a little. Tucked her arm under her head. But, just like the night before, she couldn't seem to fall asleep. Maybe she was simply nervous. Maybe it was the fact that there wasn't a bed. But she'd chosen that on purpose when Ian had offered to use one of the bedrooms to practice, instead. After all, there wouldn't be beds in the arena.

Diana rolled over again, and opened her eyes to find Piper and Alvin still watching her. "Anything I can do?" Piper asked.

Diana sat up a little. "Not unless you can make a bed appear out of thin air. Or a blanket, or at least a pillow. Or maybe a cup of warm milk." She stretched her arms. She _was_ tired, but she was also nervous. Her life had never depended on her ability to use her power. If she couldn't even get to sleep, what good were her abilities?

Suddenly, Alvin's face lit up. "Hang tight, you two. I've got an idea."

Without any further explanation, he scurried off. Diana raised an eyebrow. "What do you think he's up to?"

Piper shrugged. "Maybe he's getting you a glass of warm milk."

Maybe. But, even if he was, would that really do them any good? Unless he and the others were planning to supply her with warm milk while they were in the arena, it wasn't a permanent solution.

When Alvin returned, however, he hadn't brought any warm milk – or supplies of any kind. Instead, he was accompanied by one of the other contestants – an older boy who looked a bit hesitant. But Alvin nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead, Akil."

For a moment, nothing seemed to change. But, suddenly, the room seemed to grow a little warmer. Diana glanced around. The warmth was coming from a fireplace in the corner. Why hadn't she noticed that before? In front of the fireplace, a sleeping bag was laid out, along with a fluffy pillow. Some corner of her mind registered that it couldn't be real – that it had to be an illusion of some sort – but it didn't matter. She made her way over to the fireplace and tucked herself into the sleeping bag.

She was asleep within seconds.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

She was asleep within seconds.

Akil nodded, content, as Diana's breathing grew steadier, more relaxed. The other girl, Piper, was watching curiously. "What did you do?"

"Nothing dangerous," Akil assured her. "I put an image in her head."

"What sort of image?"

"A fireplace. A warm place to sleep. A pillow. Nothing complicated." Nothing he hadn't used on himself on particularly cold nights.

"Nothing complicated?" the girl repeated, grinning. "That's amazing. You can just … make people see whatever you want?"

"Inanimate objects are easier," Akil admitted. "If I make an animal or an image of a person, I can't always control what they _do_ once they appear. But as far as what I can _make_ … yeah, pretty much anything."

"So when she put her head down on her arm—"

"She saw a pillow, yes."

Piper shook her head. "Wow. Well, thank you. I mean, I'm sure she'd thank you, too, but…"

Akil smiled a little. "You're welcome." He turned to go, but, even as he did, he felt a twinge of … something. Regret, maybe. Or maybe jealousy. The idea that they could just help each other – it seemed to come so easily to the two girls. He'd been on his own for so long that the idea of helping someone else – of _trusting_ someone else – seemed a bit strange. But, still…

Just as he took another step, he felt something else. As if, for half a second, everything had shifted just a little. His head felt a little dizzy, his stomach a little queasy. But, just as suddenly, the feeling was gone. "Wait!" the girl called. "Would you like to stay?"

Akil turned, surprised. "Stay? You mean with you two?"

Piper nodded. "Why not? They'll be out of it for a while." She nodded towards Ian and Diana. "So we might as well get a little practice in."

 _We_. She used the word so easily. As if by simply doing something nice for them, he had joined their team. Or maybe … maybe it was something else. Diana's power, after all, was apparently only useful if she was asleep. So someone who could help her fall asleep in the arena, regardless of the conditions or distractions around them, could be a valuable asset. She had every reason to want to keep him around.

But did that mean _he_ wanted to stay?

Akil glanced over at Alvin, who shrugged. Had that been his idea from the beginning? Was that why Alvin had asked him to help? Akil hesitated, but then took a seat next to Piper. He didn't have to decide now. And what did he have to lose? He had already shown them what he could do. Maybe it was only fair to ask for the same in return. "So what do _you_ do?"

Piper raised an eyebrow. Maybe he had been too direct. He was so out of practice with actual conversations. But, after a moment, Piper answered. "I can see a little bit into the future. A few seconds – sometimes a minute or two."

Akil nodded towards Diana. "And she…"

"Controls dreams," Piper finished. "So they'll probably be asleep for the rest of the session."

Fair enough. He hadn't expected her to be quite so honest, but maybe that was for the best. They could probably get more done if they didn't have to waste time figuring out exactly what the other person could do. Akil nodded a little. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

Piper smiled. "I have a few ideas."

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

"Just you, then?"

Parker nodded a little as she and Vincent made their way outside. "It's not that I don't _want_ to be around people," she started to explain. "Or that I want to be alone once we're in the arena. But for now, there was something about being alone that seemed…"

"Less overwhelming?" Vincent offered.

"Exactly." Most of the time, she could manage to block out others' feelings. Their fears. Their futures. But she'd never been exposed to anything like this before. She'd tried glimpsing into the future a few times the night before, but she couldn't distinguish anything. There was just an overwhelming feeling of loss, of grief, of suffering. She'd spent the rest of the night trying to block it out – without much success. Even when she'd finally managed to fall asleep, the memories of everyone's fear had followed her into her dreams.

But how much of that fear was her own?

Vincent nodded a little as they stepped out into the chilly morning air. "It can be hard to tell sometimes – which thoughts are yours, and which belong to someone else. It's a process – learning to distinguish between the two. And it won't happen overnight, but—"

Parker shook her head. "It's usually not hard. It's just with so many people…"

"...with their feelings so strong…"

"It's not like anything I've ever felt before," Parker finished. "How do you deal with it?"

Because he _did_ deal with it – that much she had been able to tell fairly quickly. She couldn't tell exactly what his power was, but he'd been able to understand her feelings so easily, so precisely, he couldn't just be guessing.

"You get used to it," Vincent answered vaguely. "Once you figure out which feelings are yours, it's easier to sort and block out the rest. So let's get some distance, maybe. How far can you…?"

Parker shook her head. "Usually, if I can't see someone, it's pretty easy to block them out. But with so many of them…"

"A bit farther, then," Vincent agreed, leading her away from the building. But Parker couldn't help but notice that he grew more and more uneasy as they made their way away from the others. "It's strange," Vincent nodded, agreeing without her having to ask the question. "Their thoughts, their feelings – they can be overwhelming, but they're also an anchor. A constant reminder that it's not just about us. That other people in the world have hopes and dreams and lives – just as important as our own."

 _Just as important as our own._ That didn't help. Not when those twenty-nine other people would have to die in order for her to live. What made her life more valuable than theirs? Nothing. So what made her think she would choose her life over theirs, if it came down to it?

" _That's something you'll have to decide for yourself."_ Piper glanced around, startled. The voice was Vincent's, but it had come from … where? Not exactly inside her head, but from somewhere … else. " _Whether to fight – to play by their rules – or not."_

Parker shook her head. " _What happens if I don't?"_

" _You probably die."_

Parker raised an eyebrow. But maybe there was no point in beating around the bush. " _But if I_ do _fight … I still probably die."_

" _Exactly. They want you to think that you don't have a choice. And that would make it easier – to think about it that way. But if you're going to have a shot at blocking out other people's pain and fear of the future … then you have to start by acknowledging that your own future is a_ choice … _a choice that is yours alone."_

" _Did_ you _have a choice?"_

Vincent nodded. "We all did. Not about whether or not we're here, but about what we _do_. We chose to try to help."

Help. But help who? Was he really helping her, or were his actions simply going to help ensure that the Games went smoothly? She didn't doubt his motives, but were the others – the MAAB – simply using him? Using all of them to prove their point?

Did any of them really have a choice?

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

Did she really have a choice?

Penelope took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she passed two boys on their way out of Maria's training area. Tariq and Cameron, she was pretty sure. She'd been listening carefully the day before – trying to pick up as many names as she could. There were numbers on their collars, but she didn't want that to be her way of referring to them. She'd had more than enough of that.

It made it easier, of course – easier to keep track of them, easier not to care if one of them happened to die. No, _when_ one of them died. That was their purpose here, after all. To die. The fact that one of them was going to live – that seemed almost like an afterthought. A little incentive to make sure that they played the game right. Without that reward, why would they fight? Why would they kill?

But that was all it was – a way to make sure they did as they were told. Because what did they have planned for the contestant who actually won? A life here, no doubt, under their supervision. Maybe helping the other coaches train their contestants. Certainly not anything resembling a normal life. Maybe not a life they even wanted.

But they would still fight – of that, she had no doubt. There was no choice. Not really. Penelope forced a smile as Maria waved her inside the room that the boys had left. "Come on in, Penelope."

Penelope took a few steps forward. Maria smiled a little. "Good morning." She was trying to be pleasant. Trying to be kind. All she saw was a twelve-year-old girl in front of her. Did Maria have any idea what she was really capable of?

"Your file says you've had some training," Maria noted, "but it was a bit vague about the circumstances. Government program?"

"What?"

"Was your training part of some sort of government program?"

Penelope hesitated, but only for a moment. Where was the harm in telling her what she'd already guessed at? "Yes. It was supposed to be a secret. How did you…?"

Maria shook her head. "Who else would look at a twelve-year-old child and see a potential weapon?"

"It started before I was twelve."

Maria took a few steps closer. "How long before?"

"As long as I can remember. I was raised by the government, until … until I escaped." She glanced up at Maria, eyeing the collar around her coach's neck. Maria was a prisoner – just like her. But she had managed to escape before, along with Harper. Maybe…

"I'm afraid there's only one way to escape this," Maria said gently. "So why don't you show me what you can do?"

Penelope nodded a little. "Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. It won't hurt." That was how it had all started, after all – how her trainers had discovered exactly what her power was. One of them had hit her, and, getting no response, had tried again, and again.

Maria was more hesitant. Her first punch was light – and easily absorbed. "You can hit harder," Penelope shrugged.

"And you're certain I won't hurt you."

Penelope nodded. "I'm certain."

Maria punched again – harder this time. Then harder. After a few more punches, Penelope smiled a little, stepped back, and directed the energy from the punches into the ground, causing the top layer of snow to fly in every direction. "I can do more than that," she explained, "but there's not a lot of energy in a punch. What do you think?"

Maria nodded. "I think we're going to need something stronger than my fists to keep practicing."

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

"Just you, then?"

Cyrene nodded. After her talk with Ryden the night before, she'd thought about inviting him to come, as well. But she didn't really need the company; her clones were more than enough help, now that her collar had been turned off. And he might be a distraction – a distraction from what she was supposed to be doing.

Because she was supposed to be learning how to _fight_ mutants like him. How to kill them, if she needed to. No, _when_ she needed to. That was the only thing they knew for sure – that, eventually, they would have to kill each other. But was she ready for that?

No. Not yet. But maybe one of her clones was. So without a word to Vincent, she quickly summoned her anger-clone, Rana. Vincent smiled a little. "And who's this?"

"Rana," Cyrene explained.

Vincent took a step closer, holding out his hand to shake Rana's, but quickly ducked away when Rana moved to slap him, instead, swearing loudly. Cyrene giggled a little. "She's not exactly friendly."

Vincent nodded. "I got that impression. But _can_ she be?"

"Can she be what?"

"Friendly. Can you control what your clones do, or do they have a mind of their own?"

Cyrene shrugged. "Each one seems to have a dominant … emotion. If I wanted someone friendly, I'd summon Luna, instead." She concentrated, and her lust-clone appeared, immediately rushing over to Vincent and gushing loudly. "Or maybe Tyra." Her tiredness clone appeared, yawning a little between giggles as she watched Luna rub Vincent's shoulders. Cyrene smiled. "What do you think?"

Vincent took a step away from Luna, studying the group. "They seem like good company," he agreed. "And I'm hearing … independent thoughts from them. That's amazing. When you're not near each other, can you still tell what they're doing? Do their thoughts get transferred back to you somehow?"

"I can still tell what they're doing – most of the time." When the Sentinels had come, she'd been able to tell that her fear-clone was still alive, even after she'd left the house. "But I've never really been too far away from them before. Never really saw the point in asking them to go somewhere else. If they get annoying, I just absorb them back and—"

"Oh, I wasn't concerned about what to do if you didn't want their company anymore," Vincent chuckled, removing himself from Luna's arms. "I was wondering if you could send them ahead to scout out an area – read the terrain, so to speak – without putting yourself in danger."

Cyrene hesitated. "I don't know," she admitted. "I never really thought about … about _using_ them like that before."

Vincent nodded. "That's all right. You've never been in this sort of situation before. And believe me, I know it's frightening, but the more you can find out now about what you and your clones can do, the more practice you'll have once you're actually _in_ a life-or-death situation. You don't want to be asking yourself those questions for the first time once you're in the Games."

Cyrene reached out and quickly absorbed the other three back into her again. "What do you want me to do?"

"I'd like to play a little game. Close your eyes for a minute or two. I'm going to hide. When you open your eyes again, summon your clones and try to find me."

"Like hide and seek?"

"Exactly. But I want _you_ to stay right here. Can you do that?"

 _I don't know._ That was what she wanted to say. She had no idea whether or not that would actually work. She'd never tried before. But Vincent was right; it was better to find out _now_ , rather than waiting until the Games to figure out exactly what she was capable of. That was why they were training, after all. Cyrene closed her eyes.

"Let's find out."

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

 _One. Two. Three. Four._

Piper couldn't stop a grunt of frustration as everything snapped back suddenly. She regained her senses just in time to leap out of the dragon's way, its teeth snapping shut just behind her. The teeth weren't real, of course – no more real than the dragon was. Akil was projecting it, just like he was projecting the carnival, and the people screaming and running as the dragon toppled over the Ferris wheel. But knowing that the scene wasn't real didn't make it any easier to ignore. With all these distractions, she hadn't been able to glimpse more than four or five seconds into the future before everything snapped back to the present.

Four or five seconds. That was enough, in some situations. But in the Games, when her life was on the line, would seeing four or five seconds be enough to help her? In a fight, would four or five seconds give her any sort of advantage?

Akil, on the other hand, seemed to be holding up just fine. The illusions had become more and more complex, but also more and more vivid. Which only made them harder to ignore. Piper dodged the dragon's head once more, concentrated, and began counting. The dragon froze, its blurry outline jutting forward, snapping around her. _One. Two._

Snap. "Damn it," Piper muttered as everything snapped back, the dragon's jaws closing around her.

For a moment, pain coursed through her, but then Akil dropped the illusion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Piper shook her head. Now that the dragon was gone, so was the pain. It was all an illusion. "It's okay. I should have reacted faster. I'm just not used to … well, dragons."

Akil nodded, taking a seat next to her and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not really used to projecting anything this complex, either. Usually, it's something simple – like a stray dog or cat to distract someone. Or just empty space, so they'll ignore me. And I usually don't have to hold it this long, either."

"Are you all right?"

"It's just a headache. Happens sometimes when I try to hold onto an illusion too long."

"How long do you think it's been?" Ian and Diana were still fast asleep, completely oblivious to everything that had been happening.

Akil shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm sure the next person he's supposed to see would have shown up by now if it had been more than an hour."

Piper nodded. "You're right." She couldn't help a laugh. She'd completely forgotten. "Except _I'm_ the next person he's supposed to see."

Akil was already poking his head out the door, glancing at the clock in the hallway. "It's been almost _two_ hours. No wonder my head hurts."

Two hours. Two hours, and she still hadn't managed to use her power for more than a few seconds with Akil distracting her. "We should probably wake them," she suggested, giving Ian a little shake.

It took a few more shakes before she finally managed to wake him. "I'm _so_ sorry," he insisted when she told him how long it had been.

Piper shook her head. "It's all right. Akil's been helping me practice." By now, Diana was awake, too, rubbing her eyes.

"She's been helping me, too," Akil offered. "I never tried to summon a dragon before."

Diana smiled a little. "And the fireplace – that was you?"

Akil nodded. "I'd be happy to do it again tomorrow, if … if you don't mind."

Piper couldn't help a smile. Two hours ago, when Akil had been about to leave the room, she'd peeked into the future a little – to see if he would stay and practice with her if she asked. She hadn't been able to see this far, though – to see that he would stay this long. She glanced over at Diana, who nodded. "Sounds great."

Maybe things were working out, after all.

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

It seemed things had worked out for them in the end.

Alvin couldn't help a smile as Piper, Diana, and Akil emerged from Ian's room together, quickly followed by Ian, who made his way over to where Alvin was watching the other contestants in the cafeteria. "Want your collar turned back off?" Alvin offered.

Ian shook his head. "I want answers. Why did you help them?"

"I didn't do anything. Akil did."

"After you _brought_ him to help. Why?"

Alvin shook his head. "What do you think I'm going to say? That I have a soft spot for them and want to help them work together? That I just can't help butting in and lending a hand? Actually, the answer's a lot simpler than that."

"And that is…?"

Alvin shook his head. "What's the whole point of the Games?"

"To convince the public that mutants are dangerous."

"Precisely. And in order to do that, the mutants have to be able to demonstrate their powers, right?"

"Right."

"And Diana's only works when she's asleep." Alvin shrugged. "So I have an interest in helping her get there."

Ian shook his head. "Bullshit – and you know it. Diana's power isn't any use to you. It's not going to help your agenda. The audience won't be able to see what she's doing in her dreams. For that matter, they won't be able to see what Akil's projecting, either. And Piper – what she sees in the future won't be visible to the audience, either, so—"

Alvin nodded. "Now you're getting it."

"So they work well together. So what?"

"So what's scarier than a mutant who can level a building or burn up entire acres with a thought? What's even more frightening than the power you can see?"

Ian shook his head. "The power you can't."

"What about _three_ powers you can't see? Alone, none of them are really a threat. But _together,_ with their powers working in tandem, the audience will see just how dangerous they can be."

"Great," Ian muttered. "Just when I thought you were trying to be helpful."

Alvin shrugged. "Being helpful is just a side effect of being practical. If they happen to get along and work well together … all the better. And they do seem to have hit it off."

That was true, at least. The three of them seemed thick as thieves as they left the room. But would that help them or hurt them, once the Games actually began? At least two of them – and, mathematically, probably all three of them – were going to die. Would their friendship make that better or worse?

Alvin shook the thought from his head. That wasn't his concern. He pushed a button on his device, deactivating Ian's collar. "Thanks," Ian mumbled, and headed back to his room, where Verona was already waiting for him. Everything seemed to be running smoothly so far.

But it was only a matter of time.

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_


	14. Arguments

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** And here's the second half of day one.

* * *

 **Training Day One  
** **Arguments**

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

She hadn't expected things to go this quickly.

Maria took a deep breath as she headed back outside after finishing her lunch. It was almost twelve thirty. Four of her contestants had come and gone – Tariq, Penelope, Rachel, and Monet. Isadore, Cassidy, Juliska, and Ben were her next four slots, and had already asked if they could all practice together, along with one of Ian's contestants who had apparently joined their group.

She couldn't help wondering if she should have split up their time slots. They could certainly get a lot done in four hours, but it could also be rather draining – both for her and for them – to keep going for four hours straight.

Then again, that might be good practice, as well. Once the Games began, they wouldn't have the luxury of stopping for lunch breaks when things got too overwhelming. If they could build up some stamina, that would be good. And it would give the five of them time to get used to working together.

Five of them. Maria smiled warmly as the five of them joined her outside, led by Cassidy and Isadore. Juliska and Natasha followed them, chatting eagerly. Even Ben seemed excited to get back to work. "Let's get a bit farther away from the buildings," Maria suggested. "We don't want to accidentally burn anything down."

Juliska shrugged. "Why not?"

Isadore chuckled a little, but Maria took a step closer, deadly serious. "Because this isn't a game – no matter how much they might want you to think it is. Because even though they're pretending that each of you has the same chance of coming out of that arena alive, it's not true. If you hurt them – or if they think for a moment that you're a threat – they can make sure that you're _not_ the one who survives."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "But if we burn down everything—"

"Everything? You think you can burn down all the buildings, kill _all_ of them, before the Sentinels manage to subdue you? Because that's what you'd have to do in order to escape. Kill _all_ of them. Destroy _all_ the Sentinels. You really think the five of you are powerful enough to do that?"

Ben shook his head. "I thought you were supposed to be helping us."

Maria took a step back, her tone softening. "I am. Look around you."

Ben looked around, finally seeing what she saw – that all the snow around the group had melted. "So what?"

"Something like that would make it very easy to track you. There are five of you; it'll be hard enough for you to avoid attention as it is."

Ben shook his head. "And who's going to be tracking us? Who would come after five of us?"

"Anyone who happens to realize that the five of you are a threat and thinks that taking you out would be their best strategic move."

Cassidy shifted uneasily. "So you think we shouldn't be working together?"

Maria shook her head. "I didn't say that. But a group this large presents a target. If you can stay hidden, then you'll be able to pick your own battles, decide whether a fight is worth the risk. But you won't be able to keep yourselves hidden if you can't control your own emotions." She took a step towards the group.

"So let's work on that."

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

"So let's work on that."

Ben bit his tongue as the six of them headed away from the buildings. He was usually better at controlling his power. Controlling his emotions. But his bruised ribs, along with the strain of using his power more than he was used to during training the day before, was starting to take its toll. That, and the stress of knowing that, in a few short days, he would be fighting for his life. Didn't Maria understand that?

There was a part of him, of course, that understood what she was doing – the same thing that every coach in his life had done. She was pushing them to do better. Without that guidance, without her expectations, the group could simply have been content to sit around and play with snow the way they had the day before. She wanted more from them because they would have to do _more_ than that in the Games.

But that didn't make it any easier.

"You all right?" Cassidy asked, slowing down a little once she realized he was lagging behind the group.

Ben nodded. "I'm fine." He hadn't told the others about his injury. Nothing good would come from revealing a weakness to the group. He quickly picked up the pace, and Cassidy fell in beside him.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to single you out back there," Cassidy offered. "She was just trying to make a point. We _all_ need to be more focused if we're going to make it out of this."

 _If we're going to make it out of this._ She was right – and yet completely wrong at the same time. There was no _we_. They were working together now, yes – and would probably continue to work together in the Games, at least for a while – but, eventually, only one of them could survive. Those were the rules.

The rules. He'd spent his life trying to play by the rules. To play fair, believing that it would make him a better player, in the end. But these rules – rules that demanded that he fight and kill his fellow mutants if he wanted to survive – were unlike any other rules he'd ever played by. Could he really follow them? Could he really do what they were asking?

"This should be far enough," Maria called, interrupting his thoughts. "Now look behind you. What do you see?"

They all turned. Isadore shook his head. "Nothing."

Maria smiled a little. "Look down."

"Footprints. But—"

"Footprints can be tracked as easily as melting snow can," Maria pointed out. "What else do you see? Look closer."

"Only five sets of footprints," Ben realized. "So who—" Before he could finish the sentence, he realized Natasha was floating an inch or two off the ground. "You can fly."

"Levitate," Natasha corrected. "I can alter gravity enough to make myself float a little. I don't know if I can do it with all of you, though…"

"That would be one thing you could try," Maria nodded. "What's another way to cover your tracks?"

Cassidy glanced at Isadore, and the pair of them lifted some of the snow from the edges of their trail, spreading it gently over the footprints. "Good thinking," Maria agreed. "It's good to have more than one way to hide your trail, in case…"

She trailed off, but it was clear how that sentence was going to end. Ben crossed his arms, finishing it for her.

"In case one of us dies."

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

"In case one of us dies."

Cassidy clenched her fists tightly, nodding a little. Even hearing the words again made it all seem a bit more real. It wasn't good to rely on Natasha to help them all float above the snow, because Natasha could die. It was good to have _two_ of them who could manipulate the water in the snow to cover their tracks, because one of them could die. Isadore could die. Or _she_ could die. In a few days, she could be dead.

Ben's words sobered the group a little. "So what do we do now?" Cassidy asked.

Maria smiled a little, perhaps grateful that someone else had broken the tension. "The downside of having a large group is that it will be harder for you to hide. But the advantage is that you can work as a team. You can think as a team, plan as a team. Listen to each other's ideas, and brainstorm together."

She produced something from her pocket – some sort of small, robotic device that looked almost like a bird. Juliska raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"It's a robot," Maria explained. "Some of the same technology that the Sentinels run on. It can detect humans and mutants, it can fly, it can shoot back. For now, I'll keep it on the lowest setting. If it hits you, it'll sting a little, but it won't do any damage. Your goal is simple – find it and kill it."

"How?" Cassidy asked, before realizing she should probably be a bit more specific. "I mean, how do we kill it? Do we need to completely destroy it, or is there an 'off' switch, or…?"

Maria shrugged. "I don't know – and that's the point. Once you're in the arena, you may not know exactly what it's going to take to kill your opponents. There are mutants here with some pretty remarkable powers. Mutants who can survive temperatures or energy or conditions that would kill a normal human. You'll have to figure out for yourselves exactly what it's going to take to get the job done."

 _To get the job done._ It sounded easier, when she put it like that. But killing their fellow contestants – their fellow _mutants_ – that was what this was really about.

But not yet. For now, it was about trying to disable a robot. That was easier. That, she could treat as a game. Maybe even a competition of sorts. If not a competition against the others, then a race against the clock – to see how quickly they could accomplish their task. "When do we start?"

Maria smiled a little. "Right now." She let the robot go. But, to Cassidy's surprise, instead of staying and shooting at them, it immediately flew off – farther away from the buildings.

"It flew away," Isadore objected.

Natasha shrugged. "Wouldn't you?"

She had a point, of course. Chances were, most of the other contestants in the Games weren't going to willingly stay in one place and fight the five of them. They would have to try to find them if they wanted to…

If they wanted to kill them. Cassidy swallowed hard. She didn't _want_ to kill anyone. But this was just a robot. She could do this. And maybe that was the point – to make them realize what they _could_ do. What their powers were capable of. Maybe Maria was hoping that, once they were in the Games, having a little experience would make it easier for them to track and kill their actual opponents.

But would it really work that way?

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

Would it really work this way once they were in the Games?

Isadore clenched his fists, struggling to keep up with the others as they raced after the robot. But it quickly vanished from sight, too small for them to keep track of for long and too quick for them to outrun. "Wait, everybody!" Isadore called. "We're not going to catch it like this. You heard Maria; we need a plan. We need to come up with something as a group."

One by one, the others turned and came back. "You have something in mind?" Ben asked. Clearly, his plan had been something along the lines of "chase it and figure out a plan once we catch it." But that wasn't going to work. The robot was faster.

And the other contestants might be faster. It wasn't hard to imagine that, with thirty of them, there might be some who would move more quickly than a group of five. And one person could hide more easily. The robot could have landed and buried itself under a foot of snow by now, and they would never know. "We need some way to track it," Isadore answered vaguely.

"Or to lure it in," Natasha offered. "Some sort of bait. What do robots eat?"

"Maybe it's not about food," Juliska pointed out. "What's something that would attract other contestants once we're in the arena?"

"Warmth," Cassidy suggested. "It's pretty cold out here. Contestants might be drawn to some sort of shelter, if there is any."

"Or to fire," Ben agreed. "If we start a fire…"

Juliska nodded. "I can do that easily enough. But it'll go out quickly if there's nothing to burn."

Isadore glanced around, looking for something to burn. "There are a few bushes over there. Maybe we could burn those."

Ben nodded. "It's worth a try. But once we lure it here, then what?"

"I could try to burn it," Juliska offered.

"Fair enough," Ben agreed. "But if that doesn't work?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"We don't know how heat-resistant this thing is," Ben pointed out. "You heard what Maria said. It's good to have more than one option. So if burning it doesn't work, what else could we try?"

"We could bury it under the snow," Isadore shrugged.

"Or try to drown it," Cassidy offered.

"All easy enough to do – if we can reach it," Ben nodded. "But we don't know how high this thing can fly. For all we know, it could be up there watching us right now. We need a way to bring it down here, if it comes to check out the fire."

Isadore nodded. He had a point. If only there was a way for them to…

Suddenly, he turned to Natasha. "You can fly, right?"

"Levitate. But not that high. Even if I could decrease gravity that much, I might just float off the Earth and never come back."

Isadore shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I meant, you float by decreasing gravity, right?"

"Right?"

"So can you do the opposite?"

Natasha smiled. "I think I get the idea."

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

"I think I get the idea."

Natasha followed the others as they headed for the bushes in the distance. Whether this was going to work, she didn't really have any idea. But it was certainly a fun way to spend their time. She glanced back to see Maria watching from a distance, maybe wondering what they'd decided to do.

Soon, they'd almost reached the bushes. "I'll set them on fire from here," Juliska offered. "Then maybe it won't be able to tell we're nearby."

Natasha giggled a little. "Of course it will. Maria said it had the same technology as the Sentinels. It definitely knows where _we_ are."

Ben shrugged. "It's worth a try. And if it doesn't work, we can try to come up with something else. Go ahead, Juliska."

Almost immediately, a stream of fire burst out of Juliska's hand, quickly reaching the bushes and setting it ablaze. Natasha grinned. It was still pretty neat – actually seeing the others' powers. Her power was pretty cool, too, of course, but it was also rather invisible. People could see the effects, certainly – objects floating and all – but it wasn't as if streams of fire or water came out of her body.

But maybe that was a good thing. It made her less of a target. The mutants whose powers were more obviously dangerous – ones who could create fire or fling water about with a thought – they would be obvious targets for the others. But her? Who cared if she could make herself float a little. It had even taken Isadore a while to figure out the _other_ potential use for her power.

Suddenly, she felt something – a stinging sensation on the back of her neck. "Ow!" she yelped, turning abruptly to see the robot hovering maybe twenty feet above her head. Juliska quickly shot a beam of fire at it, but the robot easily dodged, firing off another few shots in the meantime. Ben quickly melted some snow, and Cassidy and Isadore sent a stream of water flying at the robot. But it dodged – once, twice, and then again, each time moving closer and closer to her. Why?

Too late, Natasha realized what the robot was doing. The next jet of water missed the robot – but hit her squarely in the chest. Despite the fact that Ben had just melted it, the water was cold. Freezing cold. Natasha staggered a little, but, at the same time, reached out towards the robot, doing exactly what Isadore had suggested. Strengthening the gravity underneath it. Pulling it closer and closer to the earth. Down. Down. There was a satisfying crumpling sound as it hit the ground, collapsing in on itself. But everything was getting colder.

Ben was at her side in an instant, his hands laid gently on her chest, warming her up again. Cassidy was apologizing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. I was aiming for the robot, and—"

Natasha smiled a little, her limbs already starting to regain their sensation. "It's okay. It's just a good thing Ben was here."

 _A good thing Ben was here._ But would Ben always be there? If they started to freeze in the arena, would Ben be there to save them? What would happen if he … if he died? Juliska could probably use her fire to keep them warm for a while, but if she was gone, too…

Before she could finish that thought, however, Juliska took a step towards her, eyes wide, something in her hands. It took Natasha a moment to figure out that she was holding what remained of the robot, crumpled up under its own weight due to the higher gravity. Natasha smiled a little. She'd managed to crumple a few soda cans at once before, but she'd figured the robot might be made of stronger stuff.

Maybe she was more powerful than she'd thought.

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19**

Maybe she was more powerful than any of them had thought.

Juliska stared at the crumpled-up piece of metal and wires in her hands as Maria joined them. "Is everyone all right?"

Natasha nodded as Ben helped her to her feet. "We are now. Mission accomplished."

Juliska nodded and handed the robot over to Maria, who chuckled a little. "Well, I guess I'll have to tell Francine the lowest setting was a little too easy."

Isadore raised an eyebrow. "That was the lowest setting?"

Maria nodded. "Don't worry; she gave me a few more. Just let me know when you're ready to go again."

 _When you're ready._ Juliska nodded, glancing around the group. Once they were in the arena, they wouldn't get to decide whether they were ready or not. If there were other contestants attacking them, they wouldn't have a choice about whether or not to fight.

No, that wasn't entirely true. They could always choose to run, instead. But there wouldn't always be somewhere to run. Or the other contestants might be faster, like the robot. They would have to be ready to fight at a moment's notice.

And that thought was even more terrifying now than ever. If Ben hadn't been there to help her, Natasha could have died – or at least been seriously hurt by the freezing water. And what she'd done to the robot – in a way, that was even more terrifying. Until now, practicing with their powers had seemed fun. Almost like a game. The game that their captors were trying to pretend it was.

But this – this was real. The fear that was surging through her was real – just as real as it had been two days ago when the Sentinels had captured her.

Two days. Was that really all it had been? It seemed longer. Much longer. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she was safe at home with her aunt and cousins. Now, she wouldn't be safe until…

Never. Even if she managed to survive this – even if she made it out of the arena alive – she would never be safe again. The government knew exactly who she was and what she could do. What all of them could do. Even if they were telling the truth about letting one of them live, they certainly weren't going to let that person go _free_.

"Ready, Natasha?" Ben asked, and Natasha nodded eagerly. "Then let's go again."

And that was it. No more discussion of the matter – of whether or not anyone was ready. But he had the right idea. They might not have much time to rest in the arena. And they certainly wouldn't get to decide whether they were ready to keep going. Once they were in the arena, there would be no breaks. There was no 'pause' button. They would have to be ready to keep going no matter what happened.

Maria nodded, pulled a second small robot from her pocket, and changed the setting. "Let's make it a little harder this time," she suggested. "A little more skittish, a little harder to draw out. That was a good idea with the fire, but I don't think it'll work a second time…" She let the robot go, and off it flew.

Juliska clenched her fists as she and the others took off in the robot's direction. It would be easy to run now – just leave the others and keep running in some other direction. They were so far away from the buildings. Maybe she could make it. Maybe…

But maybe wasn't good enough. Maria had been right earlier. If she tried to escape – and failed – then the people in charge could make _sure_ that she died in the Games, rather than having a fair chance. And that wasn't something she was willing to risk.

She would have to play along.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

How much longer could she play along with her lie?

Victoria took a deep breath, trying not to let her nerves show as she, Reese, and Rory headed for Ian's room. How much longer would it be before one of them asked her to glimpse into the future to practice her power? How much longer before they found out that she couldn't?

It had seemed like a good lie – one that would be hard to disprove, at least – until the coaches had offered to let them train together. It was one thing to keep up her charade for a few minutes while they were eating. But to keep pretending to be able to see the future when they were actually supposed to be _using_ their powers – that would be more difficult.

Ian smiled as they entered, watching Rory silently – as if waiting for something. "I…" Rory started, then faltered. He glanced at Ian, who nodded encouragingly. "I have something I need to tell you. Well, that I _want_ to tell you – now, while I still have the chance. I…" He took a deep breath. "I lied to you. I can't control the weather."

What?

Reese looked just as surprised. "Why would you lie about that?"

Rory shook his head. "I thought you guys might not want work with me if you knew … if you knew what I could really do."

Reese shook his head. "Why? What do you do?"

In response, Rory started to shrink a little. His facial features – a moment ago, those of a twenty-year-old or so – began to soften, leaving the face of a fifteen-year-old boy. Reese raised an eyebrow. "What's so scary about that?"

Rory shook his head. "I wasn't worried that you would be afraid of me. I thought that you might think … well, that you might think it's useless."

Reese chuckled a little. "More useless than being able to understand complete gibberish or talk in another language?"

Rory's face brightened. "Then you're not mad?"

"Mad?" Reese shook his head. "No. I think that's neat. How old can you get?"

Rory shrugged. "I'm not sure, really. I've never really _tried_ to look older than thirty or so. But one time I woke up from a dream and looked in the mirror – and I looked about sixty. Not really something I wanted to try again."

Reese nodded. "Makes sense."

Victoria scoffed. " _Makes sense?_ That's all you have to say? He _lied_ to us." She was doing the same thing, of course. But this – this gave her the perfect excuse. She had wanted to stay because Rory's power, at least, had seemed useful. But now … now she had no reason to stay with them. No reason to keep lying to them. She turned and stormed off, leaving the two of them alone with Ian and their useless powers. She could find someone else to work with.

Or not. Maybe she was better off alone. Then she wouldn't have to keep pretending. Wouldn't have to keep lying. Victoria swallowed hard. For years, she'd been relying on other people to take care of what she needed. She'd manipulated them into doing what she wanted. But maybe that wasn't going to work here. If she couldn't get close enough to them long enough – or if their powers were too useless to help her at all – then maybe she was better off not relying on anyone else at all.

Maybe she didn't really need anyone else.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

Maybe they didn't need anyone else.

Reese patted Rory on the back as Victoria stormed off. "Don't mind her. She's probably just upset that her power's cooler than either of ours." He shook his head. "That came out wrong."

"No, you're right," Rory agreed. "She probably wants to find someone as powerful as she is. The thing is … if she can see the future, how come she didn't know I was lying?"

Reese shrugged. "Maybe she did know. Maybe she was going along with it. Or maybe they had her collar turned on, so she couldn't look."

Rory shook his head. "Or maybe she was lying, too."

That didn't seem likely. Or maybe he just didn't want to _think_ it was likely. Maybe he didn't want to think that _both_ of his allies had been lying to him. "Looks like it's just us, then," Reese shrugged.

Ian smiled a little. "Maybe not. Rory?"

Rory nodded. "I was going to ask you both if you'd be okay with another … well, another person to work with, even before she ran off. His name's Simon, and he's got really good hearing. I know that's not all that exciting, either, but—"

Reese smiled. "I'd love to meet him."

Ian chuckled a little. "Good, because he's standing right behind you."

Reese turned around to see a boy standing in the doorway, red-faced at being caught eavesdropping. "I was just waiting to see how it went – if you three were still working together or not," Simon explained.

Reese shook his head. "Not all of us, I guess, but Rory and I – we're happy to have you. To work with you, I mean. If you want to, that is."

Simon smiled. "Good to hear it."

Rory chuckled. "Get it? _Hear_ it? Because he's got good – oh, never mind."

Reese grinned, clapping each of the younger boys on the shoulder. "I think we're going to make a great team."

A team. But how long could the three of them _stay_ a team? How long would this little group – this little alliance – last once they were actually in the arena?

Reese shook the thought from his head. He didn't have to worry about that. Not yet. For now, they were a group. A team. "Maybe we should head outside," Ian suggested. "If you three are working together, then you're almost my last group of the day."

"Really?" Rory asked.

Ian nodded. "Reese, then you, then Simon – and then one more after you. That's three hours, so let's make use of them."

Rory shook his head. "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"When you were scheduling your time slots, did you know that Simon would be joining us – and that Victoria wouldn't?"

Ian shook his head. "I didn't _know_. But I … suspected she might leave after you told her the truth. But I also know Vincent purposely scheduled her for the last slot because he felt her powers might be a bit … draining to work with. So if she'd wanted to stay, she certainly could have."

Reese hesitated. Was Ian trying to give them a hint? Was Rory right about Victoria lying to them? After all, why would seeing the future be a draining power to work with?

He was probably overthinking it, he reasoned as the three of them headed outside. He didn't have to worry about Victoria anymore. He didn't have to worry about anyone but himself and the two boys beside him.

That would probably be hard enough.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

It felt good to be doing something.

Clara grinned at John as the pair of them headed outside to Vincent's area. John had invited her to join him, and she was more than happy to oblige. Her appointment with Ian wasn't until the very last time slot, so she had plenty of time to spare. Plenty of time to help him practice.

If he really _needed_ any practice. From what he'd said, he already had pretty good control of when he turned into a bear or not, and what he did while in bear form. Exactly _what_ Vincent was planning to have him practice, she wasn't sure. But maybe just having the freedom to transform again would be enough.

Vincent greeted the pair of them with a smile, nodding to the man standing beside him. "You can turn their collars off now, Alvin."

Alvin nodded. "You're sure."

Vincent smiled a little. "I'm sure."

John scoffed. "What? You think I'm going to go rampaging through the building as a bear or something?"

Alvin shook his head. "If that's what I was afraid of, I would have asked him to take you a bit farther away from the building before starting. Not that it would have done much good, really – bears are faster than any of us. But it's not _you_ I'm worried about."

Clara's stomach churned as she realized what he meant. They were worried about _her._ About what _she_ might be able to do. She could, after all, take control of Alvin's body. Maybe force him to turn _all_ the collars off. Maybe together, they would have a fighting chance.

Clara swallowed hard as Alvin pressed the button, turning their collars off. She could do it. But then what? There were too many Sentinels around. Too many people. And where would she go? No. No, fighting wasn't an option. Not yet. Not here.

Almost immediately, John began to grow, sprouting fur here and there. But, suddenly, he stopped, his hands – which were quickly turning into paws – clutching at his neck. It didn't take long to figure out why, and he quickly shifted back to human form. "The collar's too tight," he gasped.

Alvin nodded. "I was wondering about that. Francine and I were brainstorming ways to make the collars more flexible – maybe making them out of some other material – but metal seems to be the best conductor for—"

"So what am I supposed to do?" John grumbled, understandably upset. If he couldn't change form, his power was completely useless.

Alvin shook his head. "Hold your horses. Francine!" A woman near the building turned, quickly jogging over to have a look. "Collar's too tight," Alvin explained. "Maybe if we—"

"Yeah, I thought this might happen," Francine admitted. "Take it off, and I'll see what I can do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't take too long to figure something out."

Alvin nodded reluctantly, pressed a button, and John's collar fell off. John rubbed his neck. "Thanks."

Francine picked up the collar. "You're welcome." She turned to head back for the building, and John began to grow bigger once more. Fur sprouted from his arms and legs. Soon, she was standing next to a full-fledged grizzly bear.

Clara grinned. "Awesome." John turned towards her, and he almost seemed to be smiling.

Then he lunged at Alvin.

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

Alvin wasn't quick enough.

John lunged for his arm first, knocking the control from his hand. Hopefully, Clara would have enough sense to pick it up. To use it. To free the other contestants. Together, with all their powers, surely they had a chance. And they wouldn't get a better one.

One more swipe knocked Alvin onto his back. "Not again," the older man muttered as John's paw swiped at his face, claws fully extended. Blood spattered across the snow. Vincent rushed towards John, maybe hoping to stop him somehow, but one swipe from his paw knocked his coach out of the way. But before he could take another swing – a swing that would finish Alvin for good – something stopped him. A voice. A voice in his mind. _STOP._

It was only one word, but there was so much … force in it. John growled, backing up, almost against his will. _STOP._ The voice was louder this time, more insistent, more controlling. But that also made it easier to tell where it was coming from. John quickly turned back towards the building, where a little girl was standing with her dog, who had apparently heard or smelled the commotion and was barking wildly.

John let out a ferocious growl, charging at the pair. Didn't she understand? Didn't the little girl realize what he was trying to do? _STOP!_ The voice was definitely coming from the girl, but now her orders were being drowned out by her fear. Her terror at the sight of a grizzly charging towards her. John raised a paw, and the girl screamed.

But before he could strike, there was something in his path. No, not some _thing_. Some _one_. The woman who had taken his collar earlier had thrown herself in the way. His paw connected with her chest, and she went flying. Distracted, John charged towards her, instead. She made a better target, anyway. It was her fault that—

But then he stopped. He couldn't move. He was frozen. Frozen in mid-swing. "Hurry!" called a voice. A voice he knew. "I've never tried this on an animal before. I don't know how long I'll be able to hold him."

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Vincent, staggering towards him and holding some sort of tranquilizer gun – probably taken from Alvin or Francine. "I'm sorry," he gasped. John growled as Vincent pulled the trigger, and the dart hit him in the rear. Everything started going fuzzy almost immediately – just as Clara lost control over his body.

But he was already changing back – his body reverting to human form. Guards were rushing out of the building. Two of them clamped chains around his wrists and ankles and dragged him inside while the rest hurried to tend to the others. To the people he'd hurt.

The people he'd almost killed.

John clenched his fists tightly as the world started to go black. He wished he _had_ killed them. Wished he'd had time before the little girl interfered. Why had she stopped him? Didn't she understand that it would be better for her – for _all_ of them – if the humans were dead?

 _The humans._ He'd never really understood that before – why some mutants hated humans so much. It had seemed just as silly to him as the humans who hated all mutants. There were good and bad humans, he had figured, just as there were good and bad mutants.

But now … now none of that seemed to matter. Maybe there _were_ good humans. But not here. Not these ones. Not the ones who had imprisoned the thirty of them, who wanted to force them to kill each other for sport. These ones didn't deserve his sympathy. They didn't deserve his pity.

They all deserved to die.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She could have died.

Jayden clutched Hiro tightly as the others bustled back and forth, hurrying to help those who had been hurt, to pick up the pieces and tidy up the mess. None of them seemed to notice her.

Then again, that was how she had managed to get out of the building in time to step in. Hiro had started barking, and no one had cared that she'd followed him outside. She was just a little girl, after all. What harm could she do?

But she hadn't done enough. People were still hurt. Vincent was clutching his side, and Alvin still hadn't gotten up. And the woman who had jumped in front of her – Francine – was still lying off to the side, barely conscious. Vincent knelt beside her while two of the guards tended to her injuries. Jayden could see blood dripping onto the snow. Hiro snuggled closer to her, trying to calm her down, but she couldn't stop shaking.

Because she couldn't figure it out. Why had the woman saved her life? Why would she risk her own life to save a girl who would probably be dead in a few days, anyway? She was one of the people in charge of the Games, after all – as was Alvin. And yet she had saved him, too. It was her command in the bear's head that had drawn the bear's attention away from Alvin.

Jayden held Hiro closer. None of this made any sense. She hadn't even known whether or not she would be able to talk to the bear – since he was really a mutant, after all, and not a real bear. And she'd never really tried to _control_ an animal before. She'd never needed to. Never _wanted_ to, really. Being able to talk to them was enough. Being around them – around Hiro – and feeling what they felt had always been enough – sometimes _more_ than enough.

"Are you all right?" Vincent's voice was gentle as he took a seat next to her.

Jayden nodded. "He didn't get me. She stopped him. Is she … Is she going to be all right?"

Vincent smiled a little. "She'll be fine. She lost some blood, but the snow – it makes it look worse than it is. It could have been a lot worse – _would_ have been a lot worse, if not for you."

Jayden shook her head. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Hiro just ran out, and when I saw the bear attacking Alvin, I…" Her gaze strayed to where Alvin lay in the snow, two men in uniforms kneeling beside him. "I should have done something sooner."

Vincent wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You did what you could. That's all any of us can do. That was some quick thinking – taking control of the bear's mind. Is that the first time you've tried?"

"How did you know?"

Vincent smiled a little. "It's always a bit fuzzier at first – things tend to get a bit jumbled. You'll get the hang of it. But for right now, what you did was plenty. You saved a life; you should be proud." He stood up slowly, wincing a little. "I'll see you later, Jayden."

"Later?"

"For our session. Four-thirty sharp. Don't be late."

"I won't," Jayden promised. "Where are you going?"

Vincent shook his head. "Wherever they took John. He's still one of my contestants, and right now, he needs all the help he can get. But there's someone I need to talk to first."

And, with that, he headed back towards Francine.

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 42**

She still couldn't quite catch her breath.

Francine closed her eyes as Vincent knelt down beside her. "You're going to be fine," he said softly. "It's all right. The girl you saved – she's fine. She's just fine."

But she heard something else, too.

 _Why did you save her?_

Francine opened her eyes again. Was he talking to her? In her head? Of course. That was his power, after all – reading thoughts and projecting them with the wind. She reached up, and he took her hand. _Why?_ he repeated.

The question made sense, after all. Why save a girl who would probably be dead soon, anyway? Why risk her life to give Jayden a few more days, especially when those days would be filled with terror and probably pain? Wouldn't it have been better to let John end it for her, quickly?

But she hadn't been thinking about that. She hadn't been objective. Just like she hadn't been objective when she'd suggested taking John's collar off. She'd been trying to help. She had thought that maybe he would run – maybe he would make a break for it. That maybe as a bear he would be able to survive in the wilderness the way a human wouldn't.

She had never thought that he would do this. Maybe she should have anticipated that he would go after Alvin. But Jayden? She must have tried to interfere. Tried to take control of his bear form. But he could have simply run. Why had he come after her?

Francine gripped Vincent's hand tightly. Her thoughts were so jumbled. Would he be able to read them? _Focus._ He squeezed her hand back. He needed to know. He needed to understand. Francine concentrated for a moment. _Because not all of us wanted this._

She could tell from Vincent's expression that he'd heard her. He shook his head. _What do you mean?_

 _Not all of us voted for the Games. Two of us … two of us voted against them._

One of the other men beside her injected her with something. Some sort of medicine. A sedative, probably. She could barely hear Vincent's next question. _Two of you? You and who else?_

But she didn't have the chance to answer.

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63**

"Are they going to be all right?"

Nicholas paced anxiously as Hans quickly got to work. He wasn't technically a surgeon, but he was the best doctor they had on hand. He hadn't thought they would need one. The mutants were here to fight to the death, after all. The idea that they would need a doctor here to save lives was something he hadn't anticipated.

But someone had. "Told you so," Alvin mumbled as Hans gave him a sedative.

"Oh, shut up," Hans grumbled. "You're lucky you're still alive. If that bear'd had the sense to go for your neck rather than your face, you'd be dead."

"People make mistakes." Alvin closed his eyes. "They're inexperienced. They're unpredictable. They're _kids_. It was bound to come back to bite someone. Just sorry it happened so litera…" He trailed off as the sedative took effect.

"About damn time," Hans muttered.

"Will they be all right?" Nicholas repeated.

"They'll be fine," Hans assured him. "As long as nothing _else_ goes wrong."

"He said we'd need a doctor," Nicholas sighed. It was something Alvin had mentioned several times, and the rest of them had dismissed. Francine had assured them, after all, that the collars would be effective – or, at least, that they would be able to tell if they weren't and would be able to keep the mutants contained until they could release them into the arena. He hadn't counted on this.

But Alvin had. Somehow. "How could he have known we'd need a doctor?"

Hans shrugged. "He thinks we need _everything._ He told you we'd need a plumber, too, remember?"

Nicholas shook his head. "But people aren't going to die because we don't have a plumber."

"No one's going to die here, either, if you'll shut up and let me do my job."

Nicholas nodded, leaving the room immediately. He should have known better than to bother Hans while he was working. But this … this wasn't what he had expected. He'd had reservations about letting his board interact with the contestants, but Alvin had insisted it was necessary in order to properly monitor the experiment and deal with any complications that might arise.

But he _hadn't_ been able to deal with them. No one could have. Maybe they had bitten off more than they could chew. Maybe…

No. No, this would still work. They just needed to be more careful. As long as they took enough precautions, everything would go smoothly. Or, at least, as smoothly as it could.

"Idiots," Judah muttered from behind him. Nicholas turned to see that he, Mack, and Lillian had gathered to watch. To make sure their colleagues were okay. "Just watched the tape," Judah continued. "Idiots took John's collar off without any questions. Just assumed he would behave."

"What were they supposed to do?" Lillian shrugged. "They wanted to fix the collar so that he wouldn't suffocate every time he tried to turn into a bear. They couldn't just leave it."

"Could have sedated him first," Judah offered. "Woken him up when they were sure they'd fixed the collar."

Lillian shook her head. "They weren't thinking like soldiers. They were thinking like scientists. Assuming everything would continue in motion until something acted to change it."

"Got some good footage, though," Mack offered. "Government official steps in to save a child from a rampaging mutant. Brave move on her part."

"She didn't do it to get you good footage," Judah pointed out. "She did it because she got attached."

Lillian shrugged. "Or because she's a mother acting instinctively to help a child who reminds her of her own."

Mack shook his head. "Who cares _why_ she did it? Are they going to be all right?"

Nicholas nodded. "Dr. Brenner says they'll both be fine. But in the meantime, we'll all have to be more careful." He shook his head.

"We can't afford any more mistakes."

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_

" _What would you have me do, Charles? I've heard these arguments before."_


	15. Evolved

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Now that everyone's gotten a pre-training POV and a POV during training (and now that my other story has made it through the Games), there's a poll up on my profile asking which contestants are your favorites. (Still three chapters of training to go, so you have plenty of time.) This won't have any effect on the Games or the Victor, but it does help give me some idea of who people are connecting with and who might need a little more "screen time" in order to shine. Feel free to vote for your own tribute(s), but please don't _only_ vote for your own. If they're the only one/s you like at this point, I'm doing something wrong. ;)

* * *

 **Training Day Two  
** **Evolved**

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 26  
** **Coach**

Everything had changed.

Vincent glanced around the room as the mutants filed into the cafeteria – all except John, who he suspected would be kept in his cell indefinitely. The doors leading outside were closed, a guard standing by each door. And all of their collars were turned on – including his own. Only Ian seemed to have been spared, and probably only because the MAAB had decided he wouldn't be much use to them if he was asleep.

As far as the members of the MAAB, only Nicholas had joined them in the room, and even he was keeping his distance. "Due to the unfortunate actions of one of your fellow contestants, we've been forced to make some adjustments," Nicholas explained. "You are to stay in this room unless you are training with one of the coaches. Your collars will be turned off at that time – and _only_ at that time. Coaches, you are to keep your contestants within sight of the building. I apologize for the further constraints, but I would remind you that one of your own brought this upon you."

 _One of your own._ Vincent watched as the other contestants shifted uneasily, glancing around. Rumors about what had happened had undoubtedly spread – and been embellished – since the day before. "But that wasn't our fault," Cameron piped up softly.

"No," Nicholas conceded. "It wasn't. But it was a grave reminder of the need for extra precaution. It is unfortunate that you must all share the consequences, but there was no other solution. Training will begin in half an hour." He turned to go, but passed by Vincent along the way. "I _am_ sorry that this … incident occurred. Did Dr. Brenner have a chance to tend to your injuries?"

Vincent nodded. After training the day before, he'd reluctantly agreed to let the doctor have a look at him. He'd landed awkwardly when John had swatted him out of the way, bruising several ribs in the process. But compared to what had happened to Alvin and Francine, he'd been lucky.

"I'll be fine" he insisted. And he would be, soon enough. Better than most of the contestants would be in a few days. Once they were in the arena – once their fate was out of his hands – then he could rest. Until then, he had a job to do.

"How are the others – Alvin and Francine?" he asked, trying not to sound too concerned. But the truth was, Francine's admission that some of them had voted against the Games – and that _she_ was one of them – had brought an unexpected sense of hope. If some of the MAAB were actually on their side…

No. No, he couldn't afford to get too carried away. Just because a few of them had voted against the Games didn't _necessarily_ mean that they were 'on their side' – just that they had the decency to realize that killing children probably wasn't the best solution to their problems. Still, that was better than nothing.

"They're out of the woods," Nicholas assured him. "But it'll be a while before either of them is ready to return to their duties. You'll have to make do with me for the time being." He smiled a little. Did he know? Did he know what Francine had told him? Surely he knew that she had voted against the Games. Her and someone else.

But who? Surely not Nicholas, and he had a hard time imagining that Judah would have voted against the Games. Alvin, perhaps, or maybe Dr. Brenner. The others, he hadn't met long enough to begin to take a guess.

 _Patience._ Right now, it didn't make much of a difference. Regardless of how any of them had voted, the Games were happening. Any hope they might have had of convincing the MAAB that they couldn't be forced to fight each other had disappeared the moment John had nearly mauled a thirteen-year-old girl. This was real. It was happening.

It was only a matter of who would be ready for it.

* * *

 **Rachel Adams, 19**

This was really happening.

Rachel drummed her fingers on the table, trying her best to swallow her breakfast. Not eating wouldn't do any of them any good. But she wasn't hungry. Hadn't been hungry ever since they'd turned her collar off. She'd hoped that they might continue to perceive her power as harmless and leave her be, but apparently they weren't taking any chances.

"Why do you think he did it?" Monet asked quietly between bites of eggs and toast. "Why did he attack them? Didn't he know what would happen? Didn't he know it would just make it that much harder for all of us to convince them we're not a danger?"

Rachel shook her head quietly. "I think we're past that."

"Past what?"

"Convincing them that we're not a threat. That we're not going to fight. It was a good idea, but … I don't think that's an option anymore."

"You think we're going to have to fight?"

Rachel looked away. She didn't need her powers to tell that Monet didn't think they were ready for that. The two of them had spent most of their sessions the previous day exploring various ways to hide. They'd discovered that, when they were completely in paper form, Monet was immune to Rachel's power. They could hide their thoughts and emotions completely. If their power worked the same way against telepathy or other powers that would normally be able to detect their presence, that was quite an asset.

But fighting – that was a different matter entirely. Being able to turn into paper wouldn't do Monet much good if it came to an actual fight – especially against someone who could control fire or douse them with water. And her own empathy – that, too, was more useful for _avoiding_ fights than actually participating in them. What they really needed was another person or two…

But who?

Rachel drummed her fingers on the table. They needed someone who could fight, but also someone who wouldn't draw attention. Who wouldn't make them a target. There was already a large group of five contestants, which had both its benefits and its drawbacks. They definitely stood more of a chance in a fight, but everyone _knew_ that. They were clearly a threat. And anyone who was a threat was also a target.

Rachel glanced up from her food, about to ask Monet who else they thought might make a good partner. But, to her surprise, Monet was already gone. Rachel glanced around the room, and finally spotted Monet – chatting in corner with a younger mutant. A _much_ younger mutant. Smiling, Monet waved her over, and Rachel reluctantly joined them. What was Monet thinking? They needed someone who could fight, not—

"Rachel, this is Penelope," Monet offered cheerfully. "Penelope, this is Rachel."

Penelope eyed Rachel curiously. "Pleased to meet you."

"And you." Rachel laid a hand on Monet's shoulder. "Do you really think—"

But Monet cut her off. "I was just telling Penelope that when we were at our session yesterday, I noticed some funny patterns in the snow – craters, like there'd been some sort of explosion. Like someone had been blasting the snow around or something. So I checked the schedule to see who was right before us, and put two and two together."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "So you control snow."

Penelope shook her head. "No. I was channeling energy into the snow. That's what I really control – energy."

"What kinds of energy?"

Penelope shrugged. "All kinds of energy. I absorb it, I can store it, and redirect it into whatever I'm trying to hit. Enough energy to give the snow a bit of a push … or more than that."

Rachel nodded a little. She could see where Monet was going. Penelope wasn't someone the others would suspect – or someone who appeared to present much of a threat. But she could be a lot of help, and, as far as Rachel could tell without her powers, she seemed trustworthy enough. Rachel took a seat beside the two of them.

"Would you be interested in joining us?"

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

"Would you be interested in joining us?"

Monet smiled, hoping Penelope wouldn't be put off by Rachel's rather blunt offer. The offer had come a bit more quickly – and more directly – than Monet had anticipated, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was better not to waste time, when they only had so much.

To her relief, Penelope nodded. "I think that would be a good idea."

Rachel smiled a little. "You don't even want to know what we can do first?"

Penelope shook her head. "I already know. I was watching you. Monet can turn into paper, and you … some sort of telepathy? Empathy?"

Rachel nodded. "Closer to the second one, I guess. I can tell what other people are feeling – not really what they're thinking."

"Probably a more useful thing to know, anyway," Penelope reasoned. "At least as far as fighting goes. An opponent's emotions would probably be easier to use against them than their thoughts."

Monet raised an eyebrow. They hadn't been expecting that line of thinking – not from a twelve-year-old. Penelope sounded like she was already preparing for a fight. And maybe that was good. That meant they and Rachel wouldn't have to spend their time comforting a little girl. But the fact that she sounded so prepared was a little bit unnerving.

Apparently, Rachel had picked up on the same thing – and worked out the reason behind it. "Sounds like you've been in a fight before."

Penelope nodded. "One or two," she answered vaguely.

"And that was even before the Sentinels found you, wasn't it," Rachel probed.

Penelope smiled a little. "Are you _sure_ your collar's on?"

"Oh, I'd know if it weren't," Rachel assured her, changing the topic. "There doesn't really seem to be a way to turn my power … off. I can do my best to ignore people's emotions, but they're always there. Or, at least, they were. Not being able to tell what people are feeling – it's a bit unnerving, really."

Monet nodded. What would that be like – constantly being able to tell what other people were feeling? Penelope was right about being able to use it against an opponent. But being able to constantly feel other people's fear, their pain, their anger – that had to be distracting. Would Rachel really be able to keep her focus if it came down to a fight?

No. No, not if. _When_ it came down to a fight. Because Rachel was right; that seemed to be growing more and more certain. The other contestants were forming groups. Finding others to help them. It had only made sense that they should do the same.

A couple of the other mutants were watching them. Maybe wondering why they and Rachel thought it was a good idea to join up with a twelve-year-old girl. Monet smiled. Let them wonder. Once they realized what Penelope could do…

Then what? What would happen once they realized that the little girl wasn't as helpless as she seemed? What happened when the charade was broken? Once they realized that Penelope was just as strong as any of them – maybe even stronger – would they still be hesitant to fight her because of her age?

Maybe. And as much as Monet didn't want to admit it, that was part of the reason they'd approached Penelope in the first place. Monet was twenty-three. Rachel was nineteen. They were two of the older contestants, and, even if their powers weren't the most formidable, the other contestants might be more willing to fight mutants who at least seemed like they had a _chance._

But Penelope … she was so young. Maybe the others would avoid fighting her – or, at least, avoid making the first move. For a little while. It couldn't last forever; eventually, they would have to fight.

But the longer they could postpone that, the better.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

The sooner they could get started again, the better.

Hadley drummed his fingers on the table as he stared at the clock. Nine forty-five. His time slot to practice with Vincent was at ten. Rosalind's time with Ian was at eleven. At first, he'd been hesitant to practice with Rosalind nearby. Reluctant to purposely draw someone else into his delusions. Now…

Now, he couldn't wait. When they'd finally turned his collar off the day before, it had all come rushing back. Things were clearer with his collar turned on, yes, but they were also so … so _boring._ He'd never really thought of his power as something exciting before. It had seemed like a nuisance. A hindrance. Something that simply kept him from living a normal life.

But a normal life wasn't an option anymore. Maybe it never had been. Now, all he could hope for was a _life._ But that was more than enough to live for. Enough to fight for.

Enough to _kill_ for.

Hadley swallowed hard. Before two days ago, he'd never even thought about _killing_ someone. He'd never really even _hurt_ anyone – not on purpose, at least. If someone happened to accidentally get in his way and got hurt, that was one thing. But _trying_ to kill someone – that was something entirely different.

Was it something he was ready for?

Finally, the clock struck ten, and Hadley quickly got up and motioned to Rosalind. "Let's go."

Rosalind managed a smile as the pair headed for the door, passing Cyrene, who was on her way back inside – still alone. Hadley glanced over at Rosalind. At least he had someone. Maybe that someone was a fourteen-year-old girl who wasn't going to be much help in a fight, but it wasn't as if he really needed help in that department. His powers were strong enough for the both of them, as long as he could keep some level of control.

Control. That was the real question. Could he control his own powers well enough to use them effectively? There was a soft _click_ as he passed through the door, and his collar turned off. Everything started to grow a bit fuzzier, the lines between delusion and reality starting to blur almost immediately. The wind started to pick up, the snow swirling this way and that in unpredictable, beautiful patterns – not blown so much as molded, shaped, folded.

 _Breathe._ Vincent's voice, carried by the wind. It hadn't taken them long the day before to figure out that it was harder for Hadley to ignore Vincent's voice in his head than it was to tune him out when he was actually speaking.

Because there was always a part of him that didn't want to listen. That didn't want to focus or try to control what was going on. A part of him that just wanted to immerse itself in the feeling of freedom that came with finally unleashing his powers. But he couldn't do that. Couldn't allow himself to get lost in his delusions. He had to…

Had to what? Try to control it? Were two more days really going to be enough to learn how to do that? Hadley took a step towards Vincent. Then another. _I can't do this._ He wasn't sure whether he had said the words, or simply thought them, or perhaps spelled them out with the swirling snow. _I can't control it._

Vincent's answer came back without any hesitation. _Then don't. It's not about control. It's not about_ forcing _your power to do something. It's about_ using _what it's already doing._

 _What it's already doing._ "I don't understand," Hadley admitted.

Vincent shook his head, answering out loud this time – maybe for Rosalind's benefit. "Don't try to _stop_ your power. It's done a good job of keeping you alive for the last few years. Probably a better job than your conscious mind would have done. Let it keep doing that. Let your power keep you alive." He laid a hand on Hadley's shoulder.

"Then you can worry about the rest."

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

"Then you can worry about the rest."

Rosalind took a step towards the pair as the wind began to die down a little. _The rest._ Vincent was being purposely vague. As if he didn't want to say it any more than the rest of them did. _The rest._ The fighting. The killing. It wasn't enough to stay alive. They had to make sure that other people _didn't._

Hadley nodded a little. Clearly, he didn't want to think about that any more than the rest of them did. But _his_ power – certainly it had the potential to be deadly, if anyone was stupid enough to come near him. But would anyone really _be_ that stupid?

Then again, _she_ was already near him. If he lost control, would he accidentally kill her? Rosalind tried not to look away. Vincent had suggested that they work together because they had both been afraid that no one else would want them. But if Hadley's power was really that dangerous, did she want to have him as an ally?

Could she afford to have him as an enemy?

Rosalind swallowed hard. When had she started thinking in terms of allies and enemies? They weren't even in the arena yet, and she was already thinking of her fellow contestants less as humans and more as the vague, uncertain 'enemy.' That was what they wanted, of course – their captors. They wanted to show that mutants were less than human. That they would fight and kill each other without a second thought. That attacking each other was simply second nature to them.

Maybe it _was_.

It hadn't taken long for word to spread, after all, about what had happened with John. He'd attacked not only two members of the MAAB, not only Vincent … but also a little girl. A fellow mutant. Any hope she may have had that the thirty of them couldn't be forced to fight – that was gone. They didn't have a choice anymore.

Maybe they never had.

Rosalind took a step back, watching. Watching as the ground seemed to unfold and twist and reshape itself around them. She couldn't help smiling a little. Maybe Hadley's power was dangerous, but it was also … _beautiful._ Certainly a lot showier than her own. She hadn't really gotten much practice with her own power the day before – and with good reason. Any use of her own power would involve hurting someone.

So the day before, she'd done little more than punch Ian a few times before sitting back and letting Hadley practice some more. She didn't want to practice. She didn't _want_ to hurt anyone.

But she would have to, if she wanted to survive. And she would have to be willing to do more than just _hurt_ people. She would have to be willing to kill. Rosalind pulled her coat a little closer. As dangerous as Hadley's powers were, he didn't seem like a killer. He probably didn't want to hurt anyone either.

But neither of them had a choice. If they wanted to survive, they would have to change. To evolve. To use their powers in ways they hadn't ever imagined. Rosalind hesitated, then bent down and scooped up a little snow, quickly forming it into a ball. She wondered…

No harm in finding out. And it wasn't as if a snowball was going to _really_ hurt him, anyway. Rosalind took a deep breath, then hurled the snowball at Vincent as hard as she could. He didn't even flinch – didn't even look her way until Hadley started to laugh.

It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened, though. "Huh. I'd been wondering about that. I'd be interested to see how your power actually works – physically, I mean. But there's not really time to run a bunch of scientific tests." He bent down, quickly scooped up a snowball of his own, and tossed it in her direction.

"I guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go."

* * *

 **Ryden O' Lore, 17**

He was still trying to figure out a plan.

Ryden glanced around the cafeteria, watching his fellow contestants. None of them seemed particularly interested in him. And, until now, he hadn't been particularly interested in interacting with most of them. Aside from a quick conversation with Cyrene on their first night, he'd kept mostly to himself.

Until now, that had seemed like the best course of action. Better to stay in the background. Better not to draw attention, to paint a target on his back. By itself, his power wasn't exactly one that would make him anyone's first target, and he wanted to keep it that way. Forming a larger group of any sort had only seemed like it would increase the chances of others noticing him.

But something had changed yesterday. There was something different about the way the other contestants were interacting. The idea that they might _actually_ have to kill each other was growing more and more imminent. One of them had _attacked_ another mutant, after all – seemingly without any provocation. And the girl he'd attacked was only thirteen. Certainly not someone who would have been Ryden's first choice for a target.

So going unnoticed … maybe that wasn't going to keep him as safe as he'd hoped. Maybe he _did_ need to find someone. But who? Cyrene didn't seem particularly interested in joining up with _anyone_ – even after what had happened. Maybe she figured she could take care of herself.

Maybe she could. Maybe _he_ could. Maybe the feeling that was overwhelming him wasn't the idea that he _needed_ someone to help him. Maybe he simply _wanted_ someone. Wanted company. Someone to talk to. Someone to discuss ideas with. Someone to fight alongside him. And if it came down to it, maybe he simply didn't want to be alone when…

No. No, he couldn't afford to start thinking like that. He didn't want to have someone at his side when he died. He wanted to _live._ That was all there was to it. And if everyone else had to die in order for him to live, maybe it was better not to—

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Ryden glanced up, startled, as a voice interrupted his thoughts. A girl was standing beside him, a tray full of food in her hands. Ryden shook his head. "No. No, have a seat. I just wasn't expecting anyone to—"

"I know. I'm sorry. I just needed to talk to someone, and you looked like you could use some company, and…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just … I'm not used to talking to someone without having any idea what they're thinking, any idea what's going to happen." She dug a fork into her chicken. "I'm Parker."

"Ryden. So you're … what? Some sort of telepath?"

"Empath. I can sense other people's emotions – even control them a bit. Calm them down, or spread excitement, or…" She trailed off. "And sometimes I can see a bit of the future. Glimpses. Feelings. Not my own, but with so many people here … well, maybe it's a good thing they turned these collars off, after all."

Ryden nodded. He wanted to ask – to ask whether she'd seen anything in his future. But if she had … would he want to know? Could she see that far, that clearly? And even if she told him, how could he trust what she said, when she'd just admitted that she could affect other people's emotions?

But from what she had said – how she had described her power – it didn't sound dangerous. Being able to calm people down – how was that a bad thing? Or feeding the excitement of a group of people – that wasn't dangerous.

Was it?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

She hadn't thought training would be this dangerous.

Verona glanced over at Austin as the three of them – her, Austin, and Jayden – sat silently eating their lunch. Her session with Ian was in about an hour, and she'd already invited both of them to join her. When she'd invited them the day before, only Austin had taken her up on the offer. But today…

Today, Jayden had actually come and joined _them_ for lunch, rather than the other way around. For the most part, she'd been silent – still a bit shaken up, maybe – but she seemed to genuinely appreciate their company. And Hiro was certainly enjoying the extra food the three of them had been slipping him.

Austin tried his best to smile back, but Verona couldn't help but notice that he was looking over at Cameron, who was still sitting with Tariq. Verona had thought about asking the two of them to join them. The more the merrier, after all. But something had stopped her.

Maybe it was the fact that she'd overheard them talking about not wanting to fight. She didn't _want_ to fight either, of course – and she certainly didn't want to _kill_ anyone – but the fact that they were willing to say it out loud seemed almost dangerous. Whether they wanted to or not, they were going to have to fight. If they couldn't accept that, then…

Then maybe it was better not to invite them. Verona swallowed hard. She didn't _want_ to exclude anybody. But maybe it was better for all of them if the contestants who _didn't_ want to fight stuck together, and those who were willing to did the same.

 _Those who were willing to._ Even by thinking it, she'd sorted herself into the second category. She didn't want to fight – and she certainly wasn't about to transform into a bear and try to start the fight _early_ – but she was willing to fight, if that was what it took to live.

Finally, Jayden spoke up. "I think … I think I'll join you … for training, I mean. For today, at least. If … if that's still all right."

Verona grinned. "Of course it's all right. And Hiro can join us, too. If you want, that is," she added hastily after seeing Jayden's panicked expression. "I promise we won't hurt him."

A silly thing to promise. As if any of their powers were actually going to hurt the dog. Or _anyone._ Sure, she could mix up people's words, but what good was that in a fight? And Austin was pretty fast – for a second or two – but that was better for running than for fighting. Still, Jayden seemed relieved. "I'll bring him – if you don't mind. I wouldn't want to leave him out here with…"

Verona nodded. A day ago, she wouldn't have imagined that anyone would try to hurt the dog. But a day ago, she wouldn't have guessed that anyone would try to hurt _Jayden_ , either. And while the mutant who had attacked her wasn't in the room – no one seemed to have seen him, in fact, since the day before – that didn't mean that none of the others would do the same, given the chance.

Verona slipped Hiro a few more scraps. No. No, she was just being paranoid. No one was going to hurt Hiro. Most of the other contestants didn't seem interested in hurting _anyone_ – no more than she was. Certainly no one else was going to try to start a fight before the Games actually began. The other contestants – they weren't the real enemy. The MAAB was. That much hadn't changed.

Had it?

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

Something had definitely changed.

Austin took a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm, but he was still shaking as he, Verona, and Jayden headed for Ian's room. Everyone in the room seemed quieter, more subdued, than the day before. As if what was happening was finally starting to truly sink in. Even Verona was silent as they left the cafeteria, and their collars softly clicked off.

Ian, however, greeted them with a smile, either completely unfazed by the previous day's events or simply hiding it better than most of them. "Another friend today, I see. Good, good. Jayden, isn't it?" Jayden nodded a little. "And this must be Hiro. I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna—" He stopped suddenly, rolling his eyes playfully at Verona, who was giggling. "Really? That's what you're going with?"

Verona shrugged. "You told me to try something specific when you weren't expecting it. Were you expecting it?"

Ian chuckled. "No. But that's not exactly what I had in mind when I said 'something specific.' I meant something _useful_ , like making me tell you to run when I actually wanted to tell you to attack." He gave Verona a pat on the shoulder. "Still, there's something to be said for confusing people – or simply annoying them."

"Annoying them could be dangerous, though," Jayden offered softly.

Ian nodded. "That's a good point. You don't want to go around antagonizing people – annoying them or picking fights with them. Not unless you're sure it's a fight you're going to win."

 _A fight you're going to win._ But what sort of fight could the three of them really hope to win? Almost all of the contestants were older than the three of them, and some of them certainly had much more dangerous powers. Yes, he could probably outrun most of them for a second or two, but that wouldn't help him fight. And it wouldn't help his friends.

His friends. As much as he knew he shouldn't, that was how he'd started thinking of them. Verona and Jayden didn't seem like fellow contestants or even teammates. They certainly didn't seem like competition.

And yet, in the end, that was what they were. What _all_ of them were. If he wanted to live, then the others had to die. _All_ of them had to die. Jayden. Verona. He wasn't ready for that. Maybe he would _never_ be ready for that.

But he wasn't ready to just give up and die, either. And that was the only other alternative. Fight or die. Those were the two choices. The _only_ two choices.

Weren't they?

Yes. They were. Now more than ever. There were still contestants who didn't want to fight, yes. But there were also some who were willing to. Maybe even a few who _wanted_ to. Who were angry enough with their captors – maybe with the whole world – that they were willing to lash out at anyone and everyone. A few who were bloodthirsty and angry enough to attack even a thirteen-year-old girl who had been trying to stop them from starting a slaughter.

Austin clenched his fists. Their captors didn't need them _all_ to be willing to fight. A few would be enough. Enough to get things started. And once things got started, it would be impossible to stop what was coming. There would be a fight. Most of them would die. And if he wanted to survive, he would have to be one of the contestants who was willing to fight. Who was willing to do what had to be done. Austin turned expectantly to Ian, who nodded.

"Let's get started, then."

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

"Let's get started, then."

Taylor nodded as Vincent tossed her a thin piece of piping. Immediately, a bone began to sprout from Terry's arm, quickly growing to roughly the same length and density as her own weapon. As soon as the bone was fully formed, Taylor swung. She'd made the mistake of going easy on him the day before and received a sturdy blow to the shoulder as a result – a blow that would have seriously injured anyone else. Terry had started to apologize before realizing that he'd barely scratched her – a scratch that had healed almost instantly.

So instead of going easy on each other, they immediately began trading blows – blows that came faster and faster as each of them grew more comfortable. Soon, they settled into a rhythm. Swing, block, swing, block. Dodging this way and that. Slowing down every so often to catch their breaths, but never really stopping.

Terry paused for a second to wipe the sweat from his brow, and Taylor grinned. "Getting tired already?" He didn't quite have her stamina, but, still, he was managing to hold his own. They made quite a pair. Once they were actually fighting alongside each other rather than sparring against each other, she could only imagine how well they'd do.

Unfortunately, there weren't many options as far as learning how to fight together rather than against each other. Vincent had tried the day before, but, after a few rough blows, it had become obvious that he couldn't really keep up with either of them. She'd thought about asking to switch coaches, but, after training with Ian – who was Terry's coach – she'd quickly decided that none of them were really equipped to handle this sort of thing. Their coaches could give pointers here and there, certainly, but, for the most part, the truth was that they were training themselves.

But as far as Taylor was concerned, that was perfectly fine. She'd spent years on the street learning how to survive. No one had taught her then; she'd had to learn as she went. Why should things be any different now?

The only other options were the little robots. The MAAB had apparently given their coaches some small flying robots that some of the contestants were using to train. And maybe that was good for mutants whose powers involved attacking things from a distance. But at close range, hitting a bird-sized robot was so different from trying to hit a human that it wasn't really worth the trouble.

No. No, not a human. They would be trying to hit _mutants._ Their fellow contestants. And no matter how hard she tried, she still couldn't picture that. Sure, she was fighting Terry now, but she wasn't actually trying to _kill_ him. She was trying to help him train so that he _wouldn't_ get killed. When it came down to actually _killing_ the other contestants, would they really be able to do it? Would _any_ of them?

Yes. Taylor gripped the pipe tightly. They would. They would have to. Because that was the only way any of them were going to survive this. And that drive – the will to survive – it was stronger than anything. She'd seen it so many times before. Everyone started off with ideals. But once hunger and thirst and sleeplessness and restlessness settled in, it was only a matter of time before people started making mistakes. Started doing things they would regret.

Regret. But she could live with regret. Hell, she could learn to live with pretty much anything. Maybe her mind couldn't quite keep up with her body's ability to heal itself, but it was truly amazing how much some people could actually learn to live with. In the end, the pain and the regret were overshadowed by one simple fact:

Living with it would mean that she got to _live._

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

He just wanted to live.

Terry swung again, breathing hard as Taylor continued to attack. She seemed completely tireless, which was something he certainly couldn't say about himself. He was exhausted. His arms ached from the strain of holding his bone weapon in shape for so long. He was starting to bleed a little where the bone protruded from his skin.

Not enough to matter, really. That was one of the first things he'd learned about his power. If he'd bled like a human, he would have bled out that first night when his powers had begun to manifest themselves. He'd never really had the chance to figure out exactly how it worked, but his blood seemed to flow differently than normal. Maybe that explained his skin, too – how it had always seemed a somewhat greyer color than most people's.

But he still bled. It still hurt. But he wasn't about to admit that. He wasn't about to complain that his arm hurt when he would be fighting for his life in a few days. A little pain now was nothing if it saved his life then.

But would it? Would anything he was learning now really help him? Maybe it was improving his stamina. Maybe it was giving him some practice holding a specific bone's shape for a longer period of time than he was used to. But the fact remained that, short of detaching bones and hurling them at an opponent, his power had a very limited range.

Then again, so did Taylor's. And her power seemed to consist mostly of an ability to heal herself – and, from what she'd said, her skin and bones and muscles grew more resistant to whatever had injured her in the first place. Which was a good way to not _get_ killed. But was it really going to help her _kill_?

Terry took a step backwards, gasping as Taylor's pipe nearly struck him in the head. That was why they were here, after all. Why they were training. What they were getting ready for. They were going to kill each other. There was no stopping that.

In fact, there didn't really seem to be much interest in slowing it down, either – not if the previous day's events were any indication. Apparently, some of the other contestants were already itching for a fight. Sure, John had been _trying_ to attack their captors. But he hadn't seemed particularly concerned about who else might get hurt in the process.

Not that Terry could really blame him for that. There was a part of him that even envied him. That wished he'd had the guts to do the same thing – attack one of the MAAB and make a run for it. Sure, the chances of any escape attempt succeeding seemed slim, but were they really any slimmer than his chances of surviving in the arena?

Terry took another step backwards, breathing hard as Taylor swung again – harder this time. He swung back, but his body was already starting to tire. It was a relief when Vincent glanced at his watch and informed them that their time was almost over. Taylor laid down her pipe, and Terry slowly absorbed his bone back into his body. This session was almost over, yes. But his own session with Ian was in a few minutes.

He'd thought about asking to switch times, but it was probably a bit late now. And maybe … well, maybe it was better not to. Once they were in the arena, after all, that wouldn't be an option. He wouldn't be able to just ask for a break. If someone attacked him in the Games, the fight would only stop once one of them was dead.

He would just have to make sure that it wasn't him.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

"Are you sure you don't want to practice with some sort of weapon?"

Cameron shook his head as he, Tariq, and Vincent sat down together at a table on the edge of the cafeteria. Vincent had asked the same question the day before, and received the same answer. The three of them had spent his training time the previous day sitting in the snow, talking – not realizing the chaos that was about to ensue only moments after his own session was over. Then, training with any sort of weapon had seemed rather pointless. Now…

Cameron glanced over at Tariq, who was calmly eating a sandwich. They'd had lunch little more than an hour before, but that was part of the plan – such as it was. The more they could eat now, the better. The more energy they stored up now, the longer they would be able to hide in the arena without taking risks that could lead to a fight.

Because the truth was that neither of them was truly equipped for a fight. Tariq was older and physically stronger, but his power was no match for contestants who could shoot fire from their hands or turn into a bear. And there was no point in pretending otherwise. Maybe they were going to die, but they still had a choice. They alone decided whether they were going to give the government what they wanted: proof that all mutants were dangerous.

"We could at least go back outside so that you can _pretend_ you're training," Vincent offered. "If we stay in here, everyone knows you're not going to fight."

Cameron shook his head. "That's the point." That was why he insisted on coming inside – especially after what had happened the day before. "They need to see that this isn't going to work – not on all of us. That they can't turn all of us against each other. That we're not just going to…" He trailed off, tears in his eyes. _That we're not just going to kill each other._ That was what he had been about to say.

But that was exactly what was going to happen. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He and Tariq could decide not to fight, but that wasn't going to stop everyone else.

Tariq slipped an arm around Cameron's shoulders. "We can't control what everyone else is going to do," Tariq agreed quietly. "But we can show them that _we_ are not afraid."

Not afraid. He wished that were true. But he _was_ afraid. Terribly afraid. And anyone who was watching knew it.

"It's okay to be afraid, Cameron," Vincent said softly. "It's what you _do_ with that fear that matters. Whether you let it paralyze you, or whether you use it to keep going. Fear can destroy you, if you let it … but it can also make you stronger. And that's your choice – and yours alone."

It wasn't that simple. Nothing seemed simple anymore. Cameron blinked the tears from his eyes. "Were you afraid? Yesterday, I mean – when John attacked you. Were you afraid?"

Vincent nodded. "Yes. Still am, I suppose. What's happening here … it's terrifying. And I can't begin to imagine what it's going to feel like once you're actually in the arena. _Everyone_ here is afraid – trust me. Even some of the people running the show."

Cameron shook his head. "What are _they_ afraid of?"

"That this isn't going to go the way they planned. That things will get out of control." He shrugged. "That a grizzly bear will go on a rampage through the building."

Cameron smiled a little. Vincent was trying to help. Trying to make light of the situation. But the truth was that there wasn't anything that he could do – that _any_ of them could do – to make this better.

They couldn't change what was about to happen.

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 74**

Maybe this would change their minds.

Hans shook his head as he watched Alvin and Francine, still sleeping soundly. They had both gotten lucky – very lucky. He'd stopped the bleeding and patched them up as well as he could, but if things had been much worse, they would've had to call in a real doctor.

But things weren't worse. Both of them had lost some blood, and both would probably end up with some nasty scars, but they were both going to live. Hans let out a sigh as he sank into a chair beside Alvin. "Funny, isn't it." Alvin was still fast asleep, breathing steadily despite the bandages that covered the left side of his face. "The two of you are the only ones who don't vote for the Games … and _you're_ the ones that get attacked. Doesn't really seem fair."

He shook his head. "But these mutants – they aren't interested in what's fair. They hate _all_ of us. No – no, maybe not. Maybe they don't _hate_ us. But they certainly don't care. You got in the way. Your life, my life – it means nothing to them. So their lives can't mean anything to us."

And they didn't. That's what he'd been trying to tell himself the whole time – that, in the grand scheme of things, thirty mutant lives weren't all that important. Of course, neither were thirty human lives. What mattered was the fate of their species. And if the human race was going to survive…

"You're an idiot."

Hans shook his head. "Thought you were asleep."

"Trying to," Alvin mumbled. "Hard when there's a moron blabbering about the meaning of life next to you."

Hans chuckled a little. "This 'moron' is the reason you still _have_ a life, Alvin. Seriously, though, this … incident – it doesn't make you think twice about your vote?"

Alvin opened his right eye, his left still hidden by the bandages. "No. John did what any of us – human or mutant – are perfectly capable of when our lives are threatened. If you were in his place, would you have given a damn about the lives of the people who had captured you, collared you like an animal, told you that you were going to be fighting to the death?"

"Besides," he added, shaking his head weakly. "You know my objection to the Games wasn't moral. It was mathematical."

Hans smiled. "Ah, yes. Your calculations. The _repercussions_ of the Games."

"You think there won't be any?"

"I think it's impossible for any of us to predict exactly what they'll be. But we can't use vague predictions about the future to justify a lack of action now."

"My conclusions were anything but vague—"

"Your conclusions were paranoid."

"It _this_ paranoia?" Alvin gestured to the bandages on his chest, his face, his arm.

"No, _this_ is what happens when you get too involved. If you would just stay out of it—"

"If I did, we'd have even more problems – believe me. I told you we'd need—"

"A doctor. Yeah. And a plumber. And a meteorologist."

"It's still early."

"You are one of the most stubborn assholes I've ever met. Do you know that?"

Alvin chuckled. "Oh, I know. I also happen to be right." He closed his eye. "How's Francine?"

"Alive. Doing about as well as you, except her face is still intact."

Alvin smiled a little. "Do me a favor, would you?"

"What do you need?"

"Call an actual doctor before the Games begin."

"Why? You two are out of the woods. You're going to want to have a real doctor have a look at your eye eventually, but until the swelling goes down—"

"Not for us. That's not…" He shifted a little, wincing. "That's not why I said we'd need a doctor."

"Then why?"

"For the winner of your little death match. You've seen what these mutants can do now. You really think if you stick thirty of them in an arena to fight to the death, the winner's going to come out without a scratch? If you want your survivor to actually _survive_ , you're going to need a doctor."

Hans shook his head. "Still so concerned with their safety."

"No, with _yours_. All of ours. If the winner doesn't survive, and you try this again, the next batch of contestants – they won't be so compliant. If they don't think there's a chance of survival, they won't fight – or, at least, they won't fight _each other._ If they're all going to die, anyway, there's no reason to behave. No reason not to try to take as many of us with them as they can."

Hans sighed. Alvin was a bit obnoxious, but he had a point. "I'll suggest it to Nicholas. In the meantime, get some sleep. You've earned it."

Alvin shook his head. "No I haven't. Not yet."

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_

" _What would you have me do, Charles? I've heard these arguments before."_

" _That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since then."_


	16. Looking

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite contestants" poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Training Day Two  
** **Looking**

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

She still wasn't quite sure what she was looking for.

Maria pulled her jacket a little tighter as she watched Cassidy, Isadore, Ben, Juliska, and Natasha chase after yet another one of the robots she had been provided with. This particular one had managed to evade them for two sessions straight so far, and they were clearly growing frustrated. But that was good, wasn't it? It was better to get used to that sort of frustration – that feeling of not getting anywhere – now, rather than when they were chasing another contestant in the arena, instead.

Chasing. No, that wasn't even the right word. Stalking. _Hunting_. That was what she was really teaching them, even if she didn't want to admit it. Even if _they_ didn't want to admit it. That was what they were learning. To hunt. To kill.

Maria clenched her fists tightly. She didn't know how to teach that. How to tell whether or not they were really improving. She had been periodically increasing the robots' settings whenever they successfully managed to destroy one, but how would that compare to actually fighting other contestants in the Games? They had no way of knowing.

Then again, _none_ of them really had any way of knowing. They'd never done anything like this before – any of them. Were Vincent and Ian having the same difficulty, the same doubts? They hadn't had much time to talk over the last few days – especially after what had happened the day before. Maybe once the Games began…

Maria's stomach churned at the thought. Yes, once the Games began, she would have more time to spend with Ian and Vincent … but only because the contestants would be gone. Because they would be fighting and killing each other. Would she be able to see what was happening? The MAAB planned to tape the Games to show the public, yes, but would the three of them be allowed to watch?

Did she _want_ to watch?

Yes. Now that she thought about it, she was certain of that. She _would_ want to know what happened. Because as awful as it was, she was already hoping that one of her contestants – one of the young mutants she'd been working with – would be the one to survive. Maybe that would mean she had done something right over the last few days.

But even that felt … wrong, somehow. Because hoping for that meant hoping that Vincent and Ian's contestants would fail. Had that been the MAAB's intention when they had insisted that they split the contestants up into teams? Were they trying to drive a wedge between the three of them? What possible purpose could that serve?

Maria shook her head, turning her attention back to the group, who had finally managed to find the robot and were in the process of trying to lure it to the ground. If that was what the government was trying to do, it wouldn't work. No matter what happened once their contestants were in the arena, their goal – their _real_ goal – would remain the same.

Because yes, they had agreed to train their contestants for the Games. And there didn't seem to be anything else they could do about their situation. But that didn't mean they were going to give up. That they were going to stop looking for a way to put an end to all this. To the Games, to the captivity, to the hatred that was growing. The hatred that the MAAB hoped the Games would fuel. Eventually, they would find a way to fight back. To resist.

They just had to keep looking.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

They just had to keep trying.

Ben clenched his teeth as the robot stung him again, this time in the side – this time aiming for his ribs. Were the devices programmed to seek out weakness? Had it been able to tell that he was already injured, even if he hadn't told the others? Or had it simply been a lucky shot?

Cassidy doused the robot with another stream of water, which Ben immediately drained the heat from, freezing it in midair around the robot. Finally, the robot crumpled onto the snow, completely frozen. "Yes!" Cassidy shouted, beaming with satisfaction. They'd tried the move several times before, but he'd never been able to freeze the water so quickly just at the right moment. "We did it!"

 _We._ The word felt good, even if it couldn't last. Even if it was only for a little while, it felt good to be part of a team. A team that knew exactly what he was capable of. He'd always had to work to control his power. To conceal it from his teammates, his coaches, his classmates and teachers. But this … this was different. His life would depend on his ability to _use_ his powers, rather than hide them. And there was something about that that was almost … freeing.

Or, at least, there would be, if it weren't for the circumstances. Cassidy held out her hand for a high five, which he quickly returned, but the thought was still lingering in the back of his mind. This group, this team … it couldn't last forever. What happened when the contestants started to die? How long would their team last once they were actually in the arena?

Ben forced a smile as the rest of the group moved in to congratulate him and Cassidy. Even Maria was smiling, though her smile, too, seemed a bit forced. Or maybe simply distracted. It couldn't be easy, after all – watching them train, trying to teach them how to kill each other. Especially when her own power was so…

Not _useless_. That was the wrong word. Under the right circumstances, being able to breathe underwater would certainly be helpful. And it wasn't something that was likely to get out of control and burn a house down or flood a room. But although some of their powers were dangerous, along with that danger came a certain confidence. Maybe they didn't _want_ to fight, but at least they were _ready_ for one.

Or, at least, as ready as they could be. He'd been in enough competitions to know that when there was a lot on the line, it was rare to actually feel completely prepared. But this group – they were about as prepared as they could hope to be. Or, at least, they would be by the time they were in the arena.

By the time they were in the arena. Ben swallowed hard. How soon would that be? Their captors had told them they'd have three days to train, and it was already the second. After tomorrow, would they be taken immediately to the arena? He wasn't sure.

Maybe no one was. Even the MAAB seemed to be playing some of this by ear. They hadn't planned to give them a day between arriving and training. Would there be something else they were expected to do between their three days of training and actually entering the arena?

He wasn't sure whether to hope there would be or not. On the one hand, a day in between would give him a chance to rest. To recover. On the other hand, that would be one more day of worrying. One more day of wondering what the future would hold – and one more day of being unable to do a damn thing about it.

Maybe it was better to just get it over with.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

Maybe it would be better to just ask him.

Parker turned her fork over in her hands. For the past hour or so, she and Ryden had been chatting. Talking about their lives. Their families. Everything except what was going to happen to them once they were in the arena. But they couldn't avoid the subject forever.

The fact that he didn't seem too eager to talk about it, though – that was a good thing, wasn't it? It meant that he didn't actually _want_ to kill the other contestants. And the fact that he was still here talking to her – that was encouraging. But was it enough for her to assume that he might want to work with her in the arena?

The bell rang again, signaling a change in sessions. Parker glanced up at the clock. "What time's your session?" Ryden asked.

Parker shook her head. "Already had mine. First thing in the morning. You?"

"Three thirty. Still got an hour." He smiled a little. "Would you like to join me?"

"Join you?"

"For my session with Vincent. I could use some company, and … well, I thought you might want to…"

"To work together?"

Ryden nodded. "Yeah. If you don't, I mean, I understand. Everyone seems a bit eager to team up with someone. If you don't want to, that makes sense – considering what has to happen once we're in the arena, but—"

Parker shook her head. "Yes."

"Huh?"

"Yes. Yes, I'd like to work with you."

Ryden smiled a little. "You haven't even seen what I can do yet."

"He has a point," came a voice from behind them. Parker turned to see a girl standing behind them. "You'll want to wait and see what the other person can do first – and what they're _willing_ to do with it."

Parker didn't need her powers to understand what the girl meant. "You're Clara, aren't you – the girl who stopped the bear yesterday."

Clara scoffed. "That 'bear' invited me to his session to see what he could do. I found out all right – and found out exactly how far he was willing to go. What he was willing to do."

"But you weren't," Parker finished. "That's why you stopped him."

Clara shook her head. "I did. And he'll never forgive me for that – for taking control. Would you?"

Parker nodded. "If you stopped me from hurting someone, yes."

"But that's what we're _here_ for – to hurt people. I just … I guess I just didn't want it to start yet."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Parker insisted.

"Maybe not. But it's enough to make me a target. Once we're in the arena, he'll be coming after me – there's no avoiding it."

Parker smiled a little. "Then maybe it would help to have a little protection."

"What?"

"Protection. Would you like to join us?"

Clara opened her mouth, then closed it again. Looked both of them over. "Why?"

Parker shook her head. "Why not? Your power – it's certainly useful. You're not eager to start killing, but you're willing to use your power to help defend others. That's exactly what I'd be looking for in…" She trailed off. She'd almost said 'a friend.' But that wasn't what she was looking for. What any of them were looking for. Not really.

"Exactly what _we'd_ be looking for in an ally," Ryden finished, holding out his hand. "What do you say?"

Clara hesitated a moment, but then shook his hand, smiling a little.

"That's what I'd be looking for, too."

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She still couldn't help looking over her shoulder.

Jayden scratched behind Hiro's ears as she, Austin, and Verona sat in a corner of the cafeteria. Their session with Ian had gone about as well as could be expected, given that their powers weren't anything particularly threatening to begin with. She'd invited the others to her session with Vincent later, to which they'd readily agreed. It almost felt good to have company again.

Almost. Because no matter how much she might try not to think about it, the truth was that this couldn't last. The others were friendly enough, yes, but once they were in the arena, being friendly wouldn't be enough to save them. Being able to talk to whatever animals might be in the arena, being able to mix up people's words, being able to move with incredible speed for a second at a time – that wouldn't be enough to keep them alive.

Would it?

"Good boy." Austin rubbed Hiro's head, feeding him a few more scraps. "Good boy, Hiro." Hiro licked his hand, and Austin giggled a little. The two were already quite fond of the dog. And he seemed to have taken to them, as well. That was a good sign.

Suddenly, Hiro gave a loud bark, turning towards the nearest door. A man slowly made his way towards them. Half his face was bandaged, and his steps were slow, but he smiled a little when he saw Jayden. "Hey, kids."

Jayden couldn't help a smile herself. "Alvin. You're all right."

"More or less. I can't stay, but I wanted … I wanted to thank you. They told me what happened – that you were able to communicate with John's bear form. That you stopped him. That was very brave."

Maybe. Maybe it had been brave. But it had almost gotten her killed. If that was what bravery was, she didn't want it. She couldn't _afford_ to be brave if it was going to cost her her life. But she couldn't tell him that. He was trying to thank her. He was trying to be nice. "You're welcome," she said softly.

"I just wanted to know … why did you do it?"

Jayden looked away. She'd been asking herself the same thing. Why had she wanted to save Alvin? He was part of all of this, after all. He was helping to organize the Games. To make sure they ran smoothly. Why would she want to save his life?

 _I don't know._ That was what she wanted to say. But that wasn't good enough. There _was_ a reason. Because the reason for the Games – the real reason – was that regular humans were afraid of them. Like her parents had been. Maybe there was a part of her that had still wanted to prove that they didn't _need_ to be afraid. That this didn't _need_ to happen.

"Because we're not what you think we are," she said softly, stroking Hiro's fur. "We're not … we're not monsters."

Alvin laid a hand gently on her shoulder. "Never said you were."

And he hadn't. He hadn't treated them – any of them – like monsters. The reason John had been able to attack him in the first place, Vincent had explained, was because Alvin had removed his collar. He'd been trying to help.

Jayden looked away. That didn't matter – not really. Maybe he was being nice now. Maybe the other woman – Francine – had saved her life. But that didn't change what was about to happen. What they were part of. What they had chosen to support.

Alvin turned to go, but Jayden caught his hand as he left. "Wait. There's something I … something I need to ask you."

Alvin nodded. "Shoot."

"If I don't … if I don't make it … can you make sure they send Hiro back to my aunt?"

Alvin squeezed her hand gently. "I can do that."

* * *

 **Rory Cunningham, 15**

"You can do this."

Rory shook his head as he shrunk a little more. "I don't know. I've never really tried to go younger than this before." The day before, they'd mostly focused on how _fast_ he could change, but now Ian had insisted on stretching the limits of how old or young he could get. He was already around the size of a five or six year old. If he got much smaller…

But Ian was insistent. "Try it. Just try."

"But what's the _point_ of getting that small?" Rory protested. "It's not going to help me fight!"

"Could make you easier to hide," Reese pointed out.

"Or easier to carry," Simon offered.

Rory glared. There was no _way_ he was going to let either of them carry him around the arena like a baby. Reese did have a point about making it easier to hide – especially if they were trying to cram into a tight space – but that wouldn't help _all_ of them. Just him.

But that was what he was supposed to be worried about anyway, wasn't it? Helping himself. He closed his eyes and focused. He kept shrinking. Smaller. Smaller.

"Wonder where all that extra mass goes," Reese pondered. "Not that you're fat or anything – I mean, you just shrank about three feet. All of that has to go _somewhere._ Did you just get a lot denser? Do you still weigh the same? What would happen if I tried to pick you up?"

Rory's eyes snapped open. "Don't even think about it." Or, at least, that was what he meant to say. But it came out sounding more like, "Don't eeeaaaaaa—" His legs gave way beneath him as his body continued to shrink. It was getting harder to even hold his head up. Rory flailed his arms and legs, staring up at the three giants looming over him, trying to concentrate. Trying desperately to return to his normal size.

Simon was chuckling. Reese was watching curiously, as if he was still trying to figure out where all that extra mass had gone, not at all disturbed by the fact that Rory was now a baby. But Ian simply smiled, reached down, and slid the collar off of Rory's neck. "Well, that's a useful thing to know."

Simon shook his head. "I don't see why. What do the collars do, anyway? They keep us from using our powers. So in order to get it off, the collar would have to have been turned off in the first place."

"Besides," Reese added, "it's not as if his power's dangerous. Not as if he can transform into a bear and go stampeding around if he manages to get his collar off."

Ian slid the collar back on. "No, but anything the other contestants don't _know_ you can do could end up being an advantage. But not just yet." He shook his head. "Okay, Rory. Now see if you can grow back."

Rory closed his eyes. There was a part of him that didn't want to. As silly as this felt, it was also a bit refreshing. And surely they wouldn't send a baby into the arena, would they? What if he just stayed like this … or got even smaller? How far back could he go?

"Rory?" He opened his eyes to see Ian kneeling down beside him. "I know it's tempting. But you can't get out of this. They're watching us." He nodded to a camera in the corner. "If you don't change back on your own – or if you can't – they can just come in here and turn your collar back on. I'm guessing that would change you back, but it might be rather quick, and it would be better to find out if you _can_ do it on your own…"

 _Fine._ Slowly, he began to grow again. Little by little. As soon as he could, he stood up, and kept on going. Up. Up. Finally, he returned to his normal height. Ian nodded.

"Good. Now let's see how old you can get."

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

"I see you decided to take my advice."

Clara raised an eyebrow as Vincent greeted the three of them. Had he suggested that Ryden and Parker work together? Or had he simply suggested that they find _someone_? Where did she fit into the equation? She wasn't really certain she wanted to work with them yet. Or that she wanted to work with _anyone_ , really – especially after what had happened with John.

Ryden shook his head. "We'll see. Just figured that if I _am_ going to work with them … well, I should get some idea of what they can do – and vice versa."

Clara couldn't help a smirk. He and Parker had been perfectly happy to team up without really knowing a thing about each other's powers. But if he wanted to pretend that it had been his idea … well, where was the harm? From the look of it, he needed all the confidence he could get.

Vincent smiled a little, as if he'd heard her thoughts. Maybe he had. _Shit._ It was so easy to forget that was what he could do – as long as the wind was blowing the right way. "Let's start with you, then, Ryden," he nodded. "Since this is technically your session."

Ryden nodded, reached up, and touched his collar. Clara stepped back, worried for a moment that he might be trying to take it off – that the same thing that had happened the day before with John might be about to repeat itself. But, instead, Ryden's skin began to take on the metallic tone of the collar. His arms changed first, but then his neck, his face – every visible part of his skin had turned to metal.

Parker couldn't help a smile. "Neat! How long can you stay like that?"

Ryden shook his head. "As long as I want, as long as I can concentrate. It's harder if I'm distracted, but that's what we were working on yesterday."

"And that's where I fell a bit short, I'll admit," Vincent offered. "I can sing distracting songs if you like, or try to send distracting thoughts along the wind, but we were hoping to find something a bit harder to ignore."

Clara took a step forward. "I might be able to help you with that."

Parker smiled. "Me, too."

Ryden raised an eyebrow. "But you said your thing was empathy. You can tell what people are feeling—"

"And control it – to a degree," Parker finished. "That would be the more useful thing in a fight to the death, probably. I've never really tried to spread more negative feelings before – usually I'm trying to calm people down or influence them to get along. But if I were to try to make you irritated, frustrated, angry – that might make it harder to concentrate."

"If that's all right with you, Ryden," Vincent interrupted. "We won't try anything you're not okay with."

Clara shrugged. "Why not? It's not like anyone in the Games is going to hold back just because he's uncomfortable." Maybe it was a bit harsh, but coddling him now wasn't going to do anyone any good. If she _was_ going to work with these two, she needed to figure out whether they were up to handling what might happen to them in the arena. If they _couldn't_ handle it, maybe it was better to find out now. Maybe coming with them had been a mistake…

Ryden flushed. "I'm _not_ uncomfortable! Go right ahead."

 _That_ was more like it. Clara smiled a little, but Vincent shook his head. "Are you sure—"

Ryden shrugged. "Why not?"

* * *

 **Ryden O' Lore, 17**

Now he understood why not.

Ryden clenched his teeth as another wave of anger hit him. He hadn't realized that so much anger was even _possible._ Sure, he'd been angry about what the MAAB had planned to do with them, but he'd been able to block it out. He'd been able to focus on the hope that maybe – just maybe – he would be the one to make it out alive.

That hope seemed so slim now. There was a part of him that knew Parker was projecting those feelings – that she was channeling her own anger and frustration and trying to use it to distract him – but that didn't make it any less potent. Any less real. Because he _was_ angry. Parker hadn't really _created_ those feelings; she'd just unlocked them. They were already a part of him.

But that … in a way, it was making it _easier_ to focus. Easier to hold his form. Because he was already thinking about surviving. And not just about surviving the Games. About what might happen afterwards. He was already imagining being brought back here, about punching his way through the government officials the way John had. Making them think twice about what they had done.

No. No, he couldn't do that – as much as he might want to right now. He couldn't afford to. If he did – if he even tried – then whatever had happened to John would happen to him. And that couldn't be good. No, he would have to wait. But it was so _hard._ The impatience – was that coming from Parker, too? Or had a certain amount of restlessness built up after years of moving from place to place, always on the run from the government? Maybe there was a part of him that wanted to fight back.

But it was a part of him he would have to control, just as he was controlling his own skin tone. He'd managed to change a few times – to the metal of his collar, to the fluffy texture of the snow around them, to the softer fabric of his shirt. All the while, Parker was feeding him emotions, and Clara was trying to control his body.

Clara, however, was having less success than Parker was. She'd managed to take control of an arm or leg a few times, but had yet to gain complete control over what he was doing. Maybe it had something to do with his own power. Or maybe Parker was affecting her, too. She certainly seemed to be growing frustrated – though whether that anger was Parker's or her own was difficult to tell. He wasn't even sure about his _own_ emotions anymore.

And that … that could be a powerful weapon once they were in the arena. To be able to confuse an opponent, make them unsure of what they were actually feeling – that could be a huge advantage. Or it could simply make them unstable. Unpredictable. Irrational. And that wouldn't be good.

No, that wouldn't be good at all. In fact, it would simply feed into the MAAB's assertion that _all_ mutants were angry, violent monsters that needed to be controlled. Parker would be playing right into their hands. But _anything_ they did in the arena would be playing right into the government's hands.

Well, _almost_ anything. Anything that would keep them _alive_ would fit with the government's narrative – that they were animals who would do anything to survive. The only way to disprove that was to do nothing. To refuse to fight. But that was something he couldn't bring himself to do.

Because, when it came down to it, it was true. He _would_ do anything to survive. Any of them would. Not because he was a mutant, but because he didn't want to die.

Was there anything more human than that?

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Was there anything more human than trying to have a little fun under the worst of circumstances?

Natasha couldn't hide a smile as she watched the others. They'd finally destroyed the last of Maria's robots, and, since there were only fifteen minutes left in Ben's session – their last for the day – they'd decided against going to get more. Instead, Juliska was shooting a stream of fire from her hands, and Ben was draining the heat from it while Isadore tried to see how close he could get without being burned. Cassidy stood ready to douse him with water that Ben had been warming with the extra heat in case things went amiss, and Natasha had managed to levitate the whole group a few millimeters off the ground.

Even Maria was finally smiling. Natasha elbowed her playfully. "Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad at all," Maria agreed. "I just wish…"

Natasha nodded. She didn't have to finish the sentence. The five of them were having _fun_ , which, under any other circumstances, would have been good. If the five of them had met at school, or at work, or simply hanging around town, things would have been different. They could have been friends. _Would_ have been friends – she had no doubt about it. These kids were _fun._

"I know," Natasha agreed. "But we might as well enjoy it while we can … right?"

"I suppose so."

"And if we _keep_ having fun once we're in the arena…"

Maria shook her head. "Don't even think about it."

"About what?" Natasha asked innocently.

"About trying to convince them that this is a bad idea by having fun and playing games instead of … what you're supposed to be doing."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't work. Believe me, I wish it would. Wish you could just go in there, goof around, show them you're not going to fight, and the audience would see that the government is wrong. But they'll never get the chance to see it."

"Why?"

"Because if they have any sense at all, they won't air the Games live. They'll wait so they can edit out the bits that don't fit with their narrative. Adjust the facts. Frame it the way _they_ want the audience to see it. The audience will only see what the government wants them to see. And they don't want people to see _fun_."

Isadore quickly turned his attention away from the fire. "You mean … you mean all they'll see is us fighting and killing each other."

Maria shook her head. "No, they'll probably show other things, too. Scenes of you trying to survive in the wild. Making plans. Figuring out what your next move should be. But they'll leave out anything that might suggest that you're having fun, that you're growing close to each other – or that you've been told to fight."

"Just like those letters we wrote to our families," Cassidy agreed. "They told us not to mention what we're really doing here, or—"

"Or they won't send them," Maria finished. "Exactly."

Isadore crossed his arms. "That's not fair."

"No, it's not," Juliska agreed. "But there's not really anything we can do about it."

"Not much," Maria agreed. "But there may be something – a little thing you can do."

Natasha perked up. "What?"

"Don't give them more ammunition. You have to play by their rules, but don't give them any more than you have to. When you have disagreements with each other – and, believe me, you will – keep it civil. If the five of you decide to split up – and you might – do it peacefully. Don't give them a reason to believe you're violent monsters."

"Aside from killing the other contestants," Ben added with a scoff. "No matter how polite we are to each other, they're not exactly going to overlook _that_. We'll all be killers – or we'll be dead."

Maria didn't say anything. She didn't have to. A silent nod was all the group needed. Maybe they could get along with each other, keep the peace among themselves. But that didn't change what would happen once they were in the arena.

It didn't change what they would have to become.

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

Apparently, forming groups was starting to become the norm.

Verona couldn't hide a smile as she, Austin, and Jayden passed three other mutants – two older girls and a boy – returning from their own session. Maybe the government would be able to force them to fight, but they couldn't keep them from working together. From getting to know each other. From forming a team.

 _Unless that was their plan to begin with._ Verona nearly jumped as the thought hit her. "I'm sorry," Vincent apologized immediately. "My last session was an … emotionally taxing one."

Verona nodded sympathetically. "It's been a rough day." A rough few days, really. And as rough as it had been for her, she couldn't imagine what it must be like for the coaches to be watching all of them. To be expected to _help_ all of them, knowing that, in the end, they could only help one. On the other hand, though, at least they were going to live. And she…

"Anyway, good to see you again." Vincent took a step towards Jayden. "And not alone. Three of you and a cat – that's…" He trailed off, turning towards Verona. "Clever. At least it wasn't Dr. Seuss this time."

Verona blushed. "Sorry about that." The first day, when she'd accidentally changed his words during his announcement, she hadn't even meant to do it. She'd just been so frightened. But that already seemed like a lifetime ago. This had been intentional – mostly, at least. "Didn't quite come out the way I wanted it to," she admitted. "Meant to make you say kitten."

Vincent shook his head. "No, you didn't."

"What?"

"Whatever someone ended up saying – that's exactly how you meant for it to come out. Or, at least, that's how you're going to want to play it, once you're in the arena. And that goes for all of you." He glanced around the group. "Jayden, whatever an animal around you ends up doing – _that's_ what you meant for it to do, even if it wasn't spot-on what you told it. Austin, you're going to want to pretend your bursts of energy last _exactly_ as long as you want them to."

"But they don't," Austin protested.

Vincent shook his head. "Doesn't matter. These Games … they aren't about how things _are_. They're about how things _look._ And the more you look like you're in control, the less the audience will realize about how little practice you've had, how little you can really control your abilities."

Verona bit her lip. That didn't seem right – lying to the audience. Even if they weren't exactly _lying_. Pretending to have more control than they did – that didn't quite seem fair.

"The others will be doing the same thing," Vincent assured them. "So remember that. No matter how confident someone _looks_ , no matter how much control they _seem_ to have, they're probably just as nervous and unsure as you are."

Verona nodded. Maybe that was true. But did that make it better or worse? Knowing that the others were just as anxious as she was – would that make it easier or harder to fight them? Easier or harder to…

To kill them. That was what it all came down to, in the end. All the posturing, all the pretending – none of it would matter one bit if, when it came down to it, she wasn't prepared to kill. But was she?

"Still," Vincent continued. "The more control you actually _do_ have over your powers, the better. So let's get started. Jayden, let's put a little distance between you and Hiro, and let's see if Verona's powers have any effect on your telepathy."

Jayden nodded and took a few reluctant steps away from Hiro. Then a few more. "Do you think there will be animals in the arena?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," Vincent admitted. "They haven't even told us where the arena _is_. But I'd imagine some birds, at the very least. It'd be hard to keep those out. Insects of some sort, almost certainly. How are you with bugs?"

"Larger animals are better for…" she started, but then caught herself. "I'm great with bugs."

Vincent smiled. "Perfect. Now let's get started."

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

"Let's get started, then."

Ky stretched his arms a little as his collar clicked off and he and Maria headed away from the building. At least this time she hadn't asked whether it was just him. Obviously, it was. And it was going to stay that way.

Not that he had anything in particular against the other mutants. They were probably just fine – perfectly friendly, normal people. Which was the problem. If most of them were going to die – and they were – then he didn't want to get attached. He didn't want to work with someone who was going to have to die in order for him to survive. That wouldn't be good for any of them.

Yet most of the others seemed perfectly content to form their own little groups. Didn't they realize that those groups wouldn't last? Were they hoping that if they ignored the inevitable, it simply wouldn't happen? Were they still hoping to change the government's minds about whether they would actually fight?

Ky shook his head, letting a few tendrils of shadow swirl around his fingers. It didn't matter what they thought. Didn't matter what they were planning. He couldn't afford to worry about that. The only person he needed to be concerned with was himself. That would be plenty.

Ky took a deep breath, releasing a swirl of darkness in several different directions. Just being able to use his power again felt _good_. Refreshing. He sent another stream towards the sky, reaching as far as he could before the darkness evaporated. "Good," Maria beamed. "I think your range is getting better."

Ky shook his head. She was trying to be optimistic; he couldn't really blame her for that. That was part of her job – to keep their spirits up, make sure they were ready to fight. Not just physically, but mentally. If they were all resigned to their fate, they wouldn't make very good fighters. Whether she realized it or not, she was doing part of the government's job for them by trying to keep their morale up.

But he was doing more. Or, at least, was _about_ to be doing more to further the government's agenda. And he hated it. Hated being a little pawn in the game they were playing. Hated being a tool that they could use to prove that all mutants were dangerous. But what choice did he have?

What choice did _any_ of them have?

"Maybe we should work a bit on precision," Maria suggested. "Being able to send some shadow in a certain direction is one thing, but being able to hit a specific target – that's trickier."

"Maybe," Ky agreed. The day before, they'd been mostly focusing on range, but she was right. Being able to hit someone specific – especially from a distance – would be a useful thing. The problem was, most of the time, his powers weren't particularly dangerous. It was only when…

Ky took a deep breath as Maria took a few paces back. "See if you can reach me now. Just me, mind you."

Ky nodded, and a long, thin wisp of shadow quickly emerged, reaching out from his hands towards Maria. Maria smiled as the shadow touched her outstretched hand – a high five of sorts. "You've had a lot of practice."

That much was true. Ky flicked his wrist, and the tendril slowly curled around Maria's arm. Maria smiled, passing her hand through the shadow. "It's beautiful."

Beautiful. That was exactly what Quinn would have said. Ky closed his hand, and the shadow vanished. "Beautiful. But only dangerous if…"

Maria took a few steps closer. "If what?"

Ky shook his head. "If the darkness is … tangible." He could grab objects with it, strike people with it, but he had no control over when it happened and when it didn't. And before the Sentinels had attacked, he'd only had to use it against someone once.

Maria nodded. "Let's work on that."

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

At least they were still working well together.

Isadore smiled as he, Cassidy, Juliska, Ben, and Natasha sat down for dinner. Two days of training, and the five of them seemed to be working even better as a team. It felt almost like he was back at home again, with Kodi, Terri, Connor, and Nick. Except his friends back home wouldn't have to die in order for him to make it out of this alive.

Isadore swallowed a few more bites, trying to ignore the thought that kept creeping into his mind. The reminder that this couldn't last. That as much as he enjoyed working with the others, everything would change once they were in the arena. He didn't _want_ it to change. He wanted … no, now that it came down to it, he wasn't even sure _what_ he wanted. He wanted to go home. But in order to go home, he would have to kill. And the others – his _friends_ – they would have to die.

His friends. Maybe it was a mistake to think of them that way. But he couldn't help it. And there was a part of him that didn't _want_ to help it. Maybe Maria was right after all. They couldn't change the fact that they would have to fight the other contestants. But when it came to each other…

Then what? If their strategy worked – if the five of them managed to survive, to outlast and outfight the other contestants – what would happen then? Would the government be able to force them to fight? Would they simply send in the Sentinels to kill them _all_?

No. No, that would defeat their point. The whole point of the Games was to show that mutants were dangerous. If they ended up having to send in the Sentinels to kill them, all that would prove was that _humans_ were dangerous.

Isadore's stomach churned. No. No, not all humans were dangerous. He couldn't start thinking that way. Kody and Terri were mutants, yes, but Connor and Nick were human. And they were his friends. They had always been his friends. They had stood by him when the Sentinels came. They would have fought for him, if he hadn't volunteered to go with them.

Isadore picked at his food. There was a part of him that wished he hadn't come quietly. Wished he had put up more of a fight. If he had known then what he knew now – if he had known that they were taking him to a fight to the death, that he would have to kill other people in order to come back alive – would he have acted differently?

Maybe. But would that have changed anything? Would that have stopped the Sentinels? Probably not. From what he'd heard from the others, some of them had fought harder. Some of them had tried to escape the Sentinels. And they were all here, anyway. More likely than not, it wouldn't have made a bit of difference.

And at least his friends were safe. But Terri and Kodi … now that he was sure the government knew about them – and their powers – what would happen to them? If he survived, would he even be able to return and see them again, or would they keep him here? Or, worse, would the government bring _them_ here, too – to fight in the next Games?

Isadore clenched his fists. The next Games. Even the thought that there would _be_ a next Games – that the public would stand for it, that they would allow it to happen again – was terrifying. But if Maria was right – if the government got to pick and choose what the public was allowed to see – could they really manipulate the public into thinking that the Games were a good idea … or at least necessary?

Did they really have that sort of power?

* * *

 **Lillian Stowe, 57**

Did they really have the power they needed to make this work?

Lillian shook her head as she and the other members of the MAAB – minus Alvin and Francine – sat around a table, reviewing the day's work. Compared to the day before, things had run rather smoothly. The cameras had caught Rory learning how to remove his collar, but there didn't really seem to be much of a danger in that. His power wasn't particularly threatening, anyway. But some of them…

Some of them were more dangerous. Even with John contained – and their best efforts to try to find a way to fix his collar so that he could still transform – there were still threats. Once the mutants were in the arena, would they actually behave the way she and Alvin had predicted? He had been right so far, but…

But nothing. So far, nothing had happened that couldn't be contained, that couldn't be controlled. Both Alvin and Francine would be all right. The mutants had one day of training left, and that would be it. They would be in the arena. They would be contained. And the experiment would begin.

The experiment. Lillian couldn't help a nervous tingle at the thought. Sure, they'd had a few setbacks, but nothing critical to the overall experiment. The thirty contestants were still alive and in perfect shape. They would be ready to fight each other – physically, at least.

But mentally … that was a different story. Were they really ready for that? Once they were in the arena, how long would it take for them to start fighting each other? There were a few who might dive in right away – she could think of one or two, from her observations – but not many. Most of them, from the conversations she'd observed, seemed more focused on learning how to outlast the other contestants, how to avoid detection, how to hide.

And that was certainly a useful thing to learn. If all the contestants simply attacked each other from the start, after all, the Games wouldn't last very long. They wouldn't have much footage, much data. Ideally, some of them would fight, some would run, and some would hide.

Ideally. But what would happen if they _all_ decided to hide from each other? If all of them decided to simply focus on survival, rather than the inevitability that they would have to fight each other? If the Games took a little while to get started, that wasn't really a problem – they could always edit the footage later to make it _look_ like the fighting had started sooner. But if it never started at all…

No. It would. It had to. All their assumptions hinged on that single one: that the mutants, when it came down to it, _would_ fight. That they would behave as anyone would in a position where their lives were threatened. That there were some of them who would lash out, some of them who would be willing to start the fight – and that the others would follow. They were right about that; of that much, she was certain. After all, if they were wrong about that, then they might as well admit that they were wrong about everything.

And that was something she wasn't prepared to do.

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_

" _What would you have me do, Charles? I've heard these arguments before."_

" _That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since then."_

" _Yes, into_ us _. Are you sneaking around in here, Charles? Whatever are you looking for?"_


	17. Hope

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Sorry about the delay. On the plus side, I'm almost done with the next chapter, too, so that should be coming fairly quickly.

Just a reminder to vote in the "favorite contestants" poll if you haven't already. A new poll will be posted along with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Training Day Three  
** **Hope**

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

He would just have to hope that what they were doing would be enough.

Ian glanced up from his breakfast as the contestants started to file into the cafeteria. Some entered with more confidence, some with a bit more hesitation than the day before. Vincent shook his head. "One more day."

Ian nodded. He couldn't quite believe it, either. Everything had started to move so quickly. Training would be over soon. The contestants would be in the arena. The Games would begin. And there wasn't a thing that he – or any of them – could do about it.

Nothing except what they were already doing: trying their best to make sure their contestants were prepared. But, in the end, did that really matter? Would it matter if they'd had weeks or months to train? Twenty-nine of them were going to die, no matter how well-trained they were. One of them was going to live, no matter how inexperienced they might be. Were he, Maria, and Vincent really making a difference?

 _Maybe not. But maybe there's something else that can._

Ian raised an eyebrow, trying his best not to glance over at Vincent. Trying not to draw attention to the fact that the fans in the room were still blowing, even though there was no real reason for them to be on. _I thought they turned your collars off._

 _They must have forgotten after training yesterday,_ Vincent offered, glancing over at Maria, who nodded. Hers was turned off, as well. Maybe they figured that their powers weren't really all that dangerous. And Maria's certainly wasn't. But Vincent's, while not inherently deadly, did give them the opportunity to talk to each other without being overheard. It seemed such an obvious mistake to make.

 _Or maybe it wasn't a mistake._ Vincent took another bite of his toast, trying to appear normal. Trying to pretend they weren't having a conversation. _Francine told me something the other day, after she was attacked. She said there were two of them who voted against the Games._

Ian couldn't hide a small smile. It was a little thing, maybe. And it didn't change the fact that a majority of the MAAB had voted to force thirty young mutants to kill each other. But the idea that _some_ of them, at least, hadn't been on board with the idea – that was something.

Two of them. Francine and … who? Maybe someone who had forgotten to turn their collars off. Who had left the fans on. But who was even in charge of things like that? It seemed like Alvin's area, but he was probably still recovering. Maybe it had been an accident, after all. Maybe without him to keep everything running smoothly, little things like forgetting to turn a collar or two on had simply fallen through the cracks.

Or maybe … maybe someone else was on their side. _She didn't say who,_ Vincent replied, perhaps answering a question from Maria. _So we'll have to be careful._

Careful. That meant he was already planning something – and trying to determine who to include. But what could he be planning?

Before he had the chance to ask, however, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of their first sessions of the day. Ian quickly hurried over to Diana, Piper, and Akil, who were already waiting for him. Whatever Vincent was planning was important, of course. But they couldn't afford to appear distracted. They had to focus on the Games.

But only for a little longer. After one more day, it would be out of their hands. Whatever happened to the contestants in the Games, they wouldn't be able to affect it. Wouldn't be able to change what was about to happen.

But maybe there were other things they could change.

* * *

 **Diana Pierri, 17**

They couldn't change what she did in here.

Diana smiled a little as she drifted off to sleep beside the warm fireplace Akil had once again created for her. She was asleep almost instantly, as was Ian. Beyond the reach of the MAAB's control. Safe from anyone else's influence.

Not much else had changed – except that the fireplace was gone. Akil had only projected it into her waking mind. But now that she was asleep, she didn't need it. She could conjure her own, if she wanted – or anything else that she might want. Instead, she conjured a pen and a piece of paper.

That was one of the first things they'd discovered together – that it was difficult to communicate with each other in the dreamland. Sounds quickly became garbled and distorted. It wasn't something she'd really noticed before; she'd never actually _tried_ to communicate with someone through their dreams. Not to send a specific message.

But now communication was key. It was also a problem that had been relatively easy to fix. A pen and paper for Ian, and practically anything she wanted for herself. She could form words out of wisps of cloud or drops of water if she wanted. She could do anything.

But only in her dreams. This feeling of freedom, of … power, almost – it didn't extend to the real world. Not much, anyways. All someone would have to do to avoid her influence was stay awake – or, at least, avoid sleeping at the same time she was. That wouldn't be that hard for someone to do.

Ian gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, took the pen and paper, and wrote one word. _Focus._ Diana nodded a little. He was right. It was just so easy to get carried away. To get distracted. But she couldn't afford that. They didn't have a lot of time.

Diana held out her hand for the pen. He would probably want to keep working on communicating with Akil and Piper – something they'd attempted the day before. She'd written a few words on her arm in the dreamland, just to see what would happen in the real world. They'd been hoping that maybe she would be able to communicate with the others – let them know who else was asleep. Once they were in the Games, that could be valuable information.

For whatever reason, however, it didn't seem to be that simple. When she'd woken up, there had been no words written on her arm. Still, there was no harm in trying again…

But Ian didn't hand the pen back. Instead, he kept writing. _Listen._ Then, realizing how silly that was, he crossed it out and wrote _Look._ He scribbled a few more words on the piece of paper, then handed it to her. _Two members of the MAAB voted against the Games. We're working on a plan. Trying to help._

Diana gripped the note tightly. _Trying to help._ She'd known, of course, that Ian, Maria, and Vincent were doing their best to help the contestants. To prepare them. But the idea that they might be planning something different – it was more than she could have hoped for.

Ian took the paper back and wrote a little more. _Don't get hopes up. Might not be able to change anything. But thought you should know. Spread the word if you can._

Spread the word. If that was what he was trying to do, then maybe it only made sense to tell her. She could tell anyone who happened to be asleep without letting the MAAB know. Diana nodded, waved her hand, and a little of the fog around them cleared, spelling out two words. _Thank you._

Ian shook his head, his message clear without the need to write a word. _Don't thank us yet._ Just because two members of the MAAB were on their side didn't necessarily mean they would be able to do anything to stop the Games. But it was something. It was a small bit of hope.

And it was the best news she'd had in days.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

It was the best news they'd had in days.

Piper's hands were trembling as she read Ian's note. A few minutes before, she and Akil had finally seen a pair of words appear in ink on Diana's arm. Just two words. _Join us._

It had taken a little while for Piper to fall asleep, even with the fireplace and a cup of hot cocoa conjured by Akil. But, once she'd finally managed it – and once she'd adjusted to the strange sight of the others appearing in her dream – Diana had finally been able to relay Ian's message to her and Akil. Their coaches were trying to help. Two members of the MAAB were trying to help. There were people who wanted to stop this – to put a stop to the Games before they even started.

But did they really have a chance?

Piper turned to Ian and opened her mouth, but the sounds that came out were all garbled. Diana quickly handed her a pen and paper. Piper hesitated for a moment before quickly scrawling, _So what do we do?_

Ian shook his head, taking the pen. _Spread the word, if you can. But once the Games start, you'll still have to fight – in case we can't stop it._

Diana nodded, and so did Akil, but Piper couldn't help a queasy feeling in her stomach. They were trying to stop the Games, but they still wanted them to fight. To kill. In case their plan didn't work. It made sense, maybe. But it still felt wrong.

Wrong. Right. Words that had once been so certain, so absolute. But nothing seemed quite so clear anymore. Everything was murkier – like the fog that surrounded them here in the dreamland. Piper shook her head. She was starting to understand why Diana preferred to spend her training time here. Things were a bit fuzzier, yes, but also distant. As if nothing that happened here was quite real.

But what Ian had told them was real. It had to be. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang, low and muffled but unmistakable. The end of their session. Piper glanced over at Diana, who nodded. She'd warned them that time sometimes seemed to pass strangely in the dreamland.

Akil was the first to vanish, waking from the dream. Then Ian, too, left. Piper was just starting to feel a bit more awake herself when something closed around her arm. Diana's hand. With one hand clamped firmly around Piper's arm, Diana quickly waved the other through the air, spelling out her words in the mist. _They're trying. But we can't count on that. We_ have _to fight._

Piper nodded. Diana was right. But why had she felt it necessary to repeat what Ian had told them? Was she worried that Piper hadn't gotten the message the first time? That she wouldn't be able to follow through? Clearly, she didn't have the same doubts about Akil.

Then again, Akil had spent the last few years living on the streets, while the two of them … compared to him, they'd had everything. Normal families. Normal lives. Would that make it easier or harder, once they were actually in the Games? Sure, they didn't have the sort of survival experience that he did, but…

But they had a reason to fight. They had families to come back to – assuming the survivor would be allowed to return to their family, or at least to see them. Maybe that meant they would fight harder when the time came. Or maybe … maybe it wouldn't make a difference. All of them wanted to live, after all – whatever sort of life it might be.

That was one thing they all had in common.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

Now they had something in common.

Akil couldn't help a smile as both Diana and Piper rolled over, stretching a little as they woke. "Welcome back," Ian nodded, his voice giving no hint of the importance of what he'd just told them. He was pretending now – pretending for the cameras that were almost certainly hidden somewhere in the room. They would all have to pretend to know nothing, or they risked putting even more lives at risk. If the government knew two of their board members and all three of the coaches were trying to put a stop the the Games…

Then what? What would they do about it? There had been a vote, so surely they already knew that two members of the MAAB had been opposed to the Games. And they couldn't be delusional enough to think that the coaches thought it was a good idea. None of the contestants wanted the Games to happen. So here they were – thirty contestants, three coaches, and two members of the MAAB who didn't want the Games to take place, all in the same building.

Akil looked away. That wasn't foolishness or recklessness on the MAAB's part. That was confidence. The people in charge – the ones who had voted _for_ the Games – were convinced that there was nothing the rest of them could do. That there was no way for them to stop the Games.

And maybe they were right. Maybe the Games would go on just as planned. Maybe most of them would die. But there was still something satisfying in knowing that the decision hadn't been unanimous. That not all of the board had thought it was a good idea to force thirty children to murder each other.

Ian nodded to Akil, who quickly conjured the first thing that came to his mind – a pair of grizzly bears, stampeding around the room. Piper quickly leapt to the side, and, for a moment, a twinge of dizziness hit him – a sudden but fleeting feeling that he had learned to recognize as a sign that Piper was using her power.

It hadn't taken him long to figure that out – or to realize that she'd done the same thing the first time they'd met, before asking him to join them. Had she looked into the future and seen that he would say yes? What would have happened if he'd said no?

Akil clenched his fists, focusing as hard as he could, hoping to extend the illusion to include Diana. He'd been working on that they day before – trying to project into more than one mind at a time. So far, though, he'd had little success. Diana had been able to catch a glimpse of some of his illusions, but no more – and, even then, only when she'd been _trying_ to see them.

The other contestants in the arena wouldn't be trying. If anything, they would be trying to _avoid_ seeing his projections. Trying to remind themselves that the visions weren't real. But even a moment of confusion – a brief glimpse of an illusion, enough to make them a little unsure – could end up being an advantage once they were actually in the Games.

"Was it a bear?" Diana asked, taking a step closer. "I think I got a little of it."

Akil nodded, and Diana smiled a little. "Good choice. If you can convince one of the other contestants that there's a grizzly, they might think it's John."

He hadn't thought about that. But maybe that was why bears had been on his mind in the first place. What Ian was suggesting – trying to stop the Games – was exactly what John had tried to do. And that hadn't worked out so well. What made Ian think that this would be any different?

Maybe he didn't. Maybe he didn't think it would work at all. Maybe that was why he had insisted that they still had to fight. But if he _did_ have to fight, then he was grateful that he had, in fact, stayed when Piper had asked. That he had agreed to work with these two. Maybe they weren't the strongest contestants in the arena, but there was something about working with them that felt almost right.

Something that felt almost … human.

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

It was strange how something so bizarre could make them feel so human.

Monet returned Penelope's smile as their limbs slowly became became deeper and deeper layers of paper. Rachel and Maria had seen them transform the day before, and Penelope had seen them from a distance, but this was different. Penelope's grin was a refreshing sight. "Fascinating. May I…?"

Monet nodded. "Sure. Just don't channel any of that energy or I might start shedding leaflets."

Penelope couldn't help a chuckle as she brushed her hand against Monet's arm. "How deep does it go? Is your arm paper all the way through now?"

Monet shook their head. "No, but it can be. Turning completely to paper takes a bit longer, though – and it takes longer to change back."

"Wow."

Monet smiled. "Didn't think you'd be quite so impressed. You must have met mutants with much more impressive powers."

Penelope nodded. "I suppose. But where I was raised – our powers were geared towards combat, mostly. Only mutants whose powers would be somewhat beneficial were chosen for the program."

"And turning into paper wouldn't be useful enough."

Penelope shook her head. "For some things, maybe. Not really for fighting, but for going undetected … when you turn completely to paper, do you have a pulse? Do you still breathe?"

Monet shook their head. "I don't need to breathe, and I … well, I guess I never really thought about checking to see if I had a pulse." They'd never really thought about how their power might be useful as a weapon. They'd never wanted to use it as one. Even now…

Even now, they were perfectly content to let the others handle the fighting. And Penelope seemed perfectly capable of doing so. She'd managed to absorb all the energy Maria had been able to find to throw at her, and had barely seemed winded. As long as the three of them stuck together, their younger companion could probably handle things when it came to fighting.

As long as she was alive. That was the thought that kept creeping back, as much as they tried to ignore it. If everything went according to the government's plan, eventually, Penelope and Rachel would both have to die.

 _If_ everything went according to plan. That was a big if. So far, it seemed little had gone according to plan from the start. Why would things be any different once the Games actually began?

Monet shook the thought from their head, trying to focus on turning their body back to regular flesh and bone. As much as some aspects of their training had seemed to be out of the MAAB's control, the most important things were still certain. They were still prisoners. They still couldn't use their powers without the MAAB's consent. And they were still going to be put in an arena to kill each other.

Monet swallowed hard. They weren't ready. They'd thought that maybe now that they were sure they wouldn't be in the arena alone, it would be a little easier. But, in a way, having company only made it worse. Because Rachel and Penelope, however pleasant they were, were a constant reminder of the unavoidable truth: people were going to die. People they were only just getting to know. People who, in spite of themself, they were beginning to care about.

Maybe that was what the government wanted. If they started to care for each other, after all, and then one of them died – one of them was _killed_ by another contestant – would that be enough to set off a chain of killing? Were they hoping that even one or two deaths would be enough to provoke more? That even one or two contestants who were willing to start the Games might be a catalyst for the others? Was that what they were hoping for?

Were they right?

* * *

 **Rachel Adams, 19**

Which one of them was right?

Rachel took a deep breath, trying to focus as both Penelope and Monet continued practicing. For an hour or so, she'd been doing her best to block out their emotions, with little success. So she'd figured she might as well try to learn as much as she could about her new allies.

Allies. That was how Penelope clearly thought of the two of them, at least. Certainly not friends – not yet. Their younger companion certainly hadn't been unfriendly or impolite, but her emotions were … not what Rachel had expected from a twelve-year-old, to say the least. Whatever it was that she'd been through before the Sentinels had found her, she wasn't quick to trust.

Monet, on the other hand, was almost _too_ quick to trust them. Almost too quick to seek out companionship – even friendship – despite the fact that most of them would be dead soon. Unlike Penelope, Monet's feelings were laced with a combination of denial and hope. They were still hoping that, somehow, someone might find a way to put a stop to this whole thing.

That wasn't too surprising, really. None of them _wanted_ this to happen. Most of the contestants, to some extent, were still hoping for a miracle that clearly wasn't coming. Maybe that was only natural. But what _was_ surprising was that, ever since this morning, she'd been sensing some of the same feelings from Maria.

Maria didn't want the Games to happen, either, of course – no more than the rest of the coaches or contestants. But for the past two days, she'd been all business. Doing her best to focus on training. But today … something was different. Something was off.

Rachel glanced over at Maria, who was watching Penelope intently. She wanted to ask. But even that could be dangerous. They were almost certainly being watched. There could be cameras anywhere. And if the MAAB got the slightest hint that the coaches weren't cooperating, then…

Then what? What would they do? Rachel wasn't sure, exactly, but it couldn't be good. Maybe they would forbid them from training entirely. Maybe they would put them in the arena immediately, without any further instruction. Or maybe they would put the coaches in the arena _with_ them.

 _Stop it._ Her imagination was running away with her. They wouldn't do that. They only had to get through one more day of training, and then…

And then the Games. Rachel shuddered. Penelope was right; the Games were unavoidable. And maybe it would be better to get them over with, one way or the other. But she was still terrified. They all were. Anyone who wasn't … well, they obviously hadn't let it sink in yet. Because who _wouldn't_ be afraid of the idea of a fight to the death?

Certainly not her companions. Penelope was hiding it better than Monet was, but they were both afraid. Not that she blamed them for that. She was afraid, too. Afraid of what might happen once they were in the Games, yes. Afraid of dying. But also afraid – and maybe even _more_ afraid – of what she might be forced to _do_. What she would become. What _all_ of them would become in the name of survival.

Would they become the monsters the MAAB already thought they were?

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She could only hope they hadn't already decided she was a monster.

Penelope tried her best to shake the thought from her head. To focus as Maria, Rachel, and Monet continued to hurl snowballs at her. It wasn't a particularly efficient way to absorb energy, but, after more than two hours of training together, Monet had insisted that they needed a little fun. And the others had agreed.

So she had gone along with it. Because that was the normal thing to do. Wasn't it? And she wanted to seem normal – for now, at least. If Rachel and Monet knew what she was really capable of, what would they think? Would they still want to work with her?

Even that, though, wasn't her real concern. She had been grateful when Monet and Rachel had proposed an alliance, but not only because she wanted the company. A twelve-year-old who insisted on going it alone might have raised eyebrows. She would have drawn attention if she had gone into the Games alone with so many of the others deciding to form groups. The idea that she was ready to take on the whole arena by herself wasn't an image she wanted the others to have.

But that didn't mean she wasn't ready.

The others' powers, after all, weren't really going to be much use in a fight. Rachel's might be useful for detecting approaching contestants, and Monet's might help them hide, but when it came to a fight, she would almost certainly be doing most of the work. No one had said so, but they all knew it.

Not that she had a problem with that. Not really. Being their only real fighter made her an indispensable member of the team. No, it wasn't really Monet and Rachel that she was worried about. It was their captors. The MAAB. The government. Maybe they weren't fully prepared. Maybe they wouldn't have much control over who _won_ the Games. But, if they were careful, they might have some say in who _lost_.

After all, they would obviously prefer a winner they could control. And even though their collars could prevent them from using their powers, someone who had already escaped government custody once _could_ be considered a threat even without her abilities. If they decided she was too dangerous, would they try to make sure that she died in the Games?

She'd tried to tell herself that was ridiculous. That she was being paranoid. If they'd wanted her dead, why put her in the Games at all? Why not simply kill her and avoid the risk of her being the one to survive?

But the answer to that was all too obvious. They _needed_ mutants in the Games who would be a threat. The sort of display of power she could provide – that was exactly what they were looking for. Exactly what they would need if they wanted to convince ordinary humans that all mutants were a threat.

Because the flip side of the fact that Monet and Rachel's powers weren't particularly useful, of course, was that they also weren't threatening – unless papercuts counted. Maybe neither of them made a very exciting contestant, but at least they didn't pose any threat to the MAAB if they were to survive.

Penelope breathed a sigh of relief as the bell finally rang, signaling the end of their session. She quickly channeled the energy she had absorbed into the snow around them, sending it spraying in all directions. Maria smiled, and Monet clapped her on the back. "Nice."

And it was. It was nice. It was something that felt … almost normal. Or, at least, as close to normal as she had ever known. The idea of having friends – not just teammates or partners – was still a strange one. And she wasn't ready to use that word to describe Rachel and Monet just yet. But maybe … maybe they were well on their way.

And that was almost more frightening than the Games.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

He just hoped things would be a bit clearer once they were actually in the Games.

Hadley shook his head, trying to clear his mind as the bell rang. Their session was over. Rosalind's session, actually – he'd had his own session earlier. But Rosalind seemed perfectly content to use her time to let him practice, and he wasn't about to argue. Only being able to use his powers for an hour or two at a time was beginning to feel restrictive. He was almost looking forward to being in the Games. To being able to use his abilities at will.

Rosalind, he knew, didn't share that sentiment. Her power, after all, was only useful if she was trying to hurt someone – something she clearly didn't want to do. Not that he _wanted_ to hurt anyone, either. He'd simply wanted to be left alone. And maybe the extent of his powers would be enough to convince the other contestants that leaving him alone was, indeed, the best course of action.

But how long could he hope for that to last? It was only a matter of time before someone realized that they would have to take him out in order to win. Only a matter of time before they tried to figure out a way to kill him. But how? How did they plan to kill someone with powers like his? He had no way of knowing, of course, what most of _their_ powers were, or how they might interact with his own.

And, for the most part, he had no interest in finding out. If they managed to find a way to kill him, there wasn't much he could do about that. And if his own powers killed them before they had the chance, all the better. Hadley squeezed Rosalind's hand gently as the pair of them headed back inside, their collars clicking on immediately as they entered the building. Hadley couldn't hide a slight gasp as his powers vanished. He still wasn't used to the feeling of not having them.

And it wasn't just the fact that reality and illusion were now completely separated. No, it was worse than that – worse than he'd realized at first. For years now, he'd been relying on his powers to keep him safe. The idea that he might not have that protection – that feeling of helplessness – was terrifying.

But he didn't dare admit that – certainly not around Rosalind. Over the last few days, she'd begun to trust him. Once they were in the arena, she would be relying on him. Counting on him to keep her safe.

That was a new feeling – being needed. For as long as he could remember, he'd only been concerned with keeping himself alive. Trying to get other people to leave him alone. Doing what _he_ wanted to do. The idea that here, of all places, he would find someone who needed him – and that he would _want_ to be needed, _want_ to help her – it was almost funny.

It _would_ be funny, really, if it weren't for the circumstances. If it weren't for the fact that his young companion – his friend – would need to die if he wanted to have a chance of going … where? Home? He didn't have a home to go back to. But that didn't matter, really. He wanted a chance to _live_ – wherever that might be. And, in order for that to happen, Rosalind had to die.

But not yet. She didn't need to die _yet_.

And _he_ didn't have to be the one to do it.

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

There was a part of her that was still hoping she wouldn't have to kill.

Rosalind managed a smile as she and Hadley filled their trays for lunch. The more she saw of his powers, the more convinced she was that the other contestants would have to be crazy to want to attack him. To want to attack _them_. They were a team, after all. As long as she stayed with Hadley, she would be safe.

As long as she could trust _him._

She hadn't been sure of that at first. But now, after three days, she couldn't imagine him hurting her. At least not intentionally. Sure, if his powers got out of control, he could do more harm than she could – possibly more harm than anyone else in the arena. It was hard to imagine any of the other contestants would be able to do more damage.

Then again, she wasn't really sure what any of the others could do, either, or how their powers might compare to hers or Hadley's. Most of them, understandably, hadn't been particularly vocal about what their abilities were. Of course, neither had she. Aside from Hadley, she doubted any of the others knew exactly what her power was.

Maybe that was a good thing. But it was also lonelier than she'd expected. She was used to hiding her power from strangers, but at least at home, her family knew what she could do. What she was. Here, despite the fact that they were all mutants, there was an extra level of secrecy that she wasn't accustomed to.

None of that was their fault, of course. Anything they could keep hidden from the others might be something that would give them an advantage in the arena. None of them wanted to trust the others unless it was absolutely necessary. They all knew that trusting the wrong person could get them killed.

Hadley shook his head as the pair of them sat down for lunch. "What do you think is going to happen? After training is done today, I mean. Do you think they'll keep us here for tonight, or…?"

He didn't finish the question. He didn't need to. No one had told them anything about where the arena was, or how far away it might be. If it wasn't somewhere nearby, would they transport them to the arena during the night? Would they even have another good night's rest before the Games?

Not that the last few nights had been particularly restful. "I don't know," Rosalind admitted. "Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it's better if we just get this over with rather than…"

Rather than what? Rather than sitting around worrying about what might happen? Would it really be better to actually be in the arena?

"At least then we'll be able to use our powers," Hadley offered. Rosalind looked away. Maybe that was a good thing for him – to be able to use his powers at will. But, for her, all it meant was that she would be able to hurt people without them feeling a thing. That was only useful if she wanted to hurt someone. If she wanted to kill someone.

No. No, not _if_. When. And even if she didn't want to, she would need to. If she wanted to go home, she would have to kill. Hadley would have to kill. And eventually…

Rosalind took another bite of her sandwich. She didn't want to think about that – about what might happen if she and Hadley were the only ones left. Even if she wanted to – even if she _needed_ to – would she be _able_ to kill him? Physically? Mentally? She had a feeling she already knew the answer to that.

And she didn't like it.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

He just hoped the audience wouldn't like it.

Tariq glanced around the room as he and Cameron sat down for lunch. Yesterday, the conversations in the cafeteria had been quieter, kept in whispers. Now, almost everyone was silent. It was beginning to sink in. Tomorrow, they would be in the arena. The Games would start. The killing, the blood, the fear – it would all start tomorrow.

Not entirely, of course. Some of it had already started. They were already afraid. Already reluctant to trust each other. The other contestants were already beginning to think like they were already in the Games. Already beginning to consider what they would have to do in order to survive.

Survive. It was a harmless enough word. Survival implied being able to overcome whatever elements and hardships might be in the arena. But the word only served to mask what they were really being required to do. Survival meant killing. And that was something he wasn't ready for.

So he could only hope that the audience wasn't ready for it, either. That, when it came down to it, when the Games finally aired, they wouldn't accept it. It would be too late for them to change anything about this year's Games. Too late for them to save this year's contestants. But if they spoke out, if they banded together and stood up to the government, then maybe they could stop it from happening again.

Maybe. But in order for that to happen, they would have to care. Would ordinary humans really care about what happened to a group of mutants in the arena? Or was the MAAB right? Would the Games only convince the audience that they were monsters? Especially once the audience saw what they were willing to do?

He didn't really have any doubt, after all, that most of the contestants would be willing to kill. Maybe they didn't even know it yet. Maybe they didn't realize themselves what they would be willing to do in order to survive. Most people didn't know what they were truly capable of until the choice came. Kill or be killed. Fight or die. Most of them would choose to fight.

But that would also be true of a group of humans. The fact that it was true of mutants, as well, should make them seem _more_ human, not less. But would the audience see it that way? Or would they assume that normal humans would _never_ be capable of that sort of violence?

"You all right?" Cameron asked quietly.

Tariq nodded. "Just thinking. Wondering. Wondering what people will do when … when they find out."

Cameron shook his head. "I know what my family will think. They'll be horrified. Even if no one tells them that we were forced to fight, they know that I wouldn't hurt anyone if I didn't have to. They'll know we're being forced to do this. But whether they'll be able to convince anyone else … I don't know."

"That's the catch, isn't it," Tariq agreed. "There will be people who will figure it out … but will it be enough of them? Enough to make a difference? I don't know. And even if they want to tell others, to spread the word, will the government let them?"

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? It's not like the government is going to arrest our families, too. They can't do that."

"Why not?"

"They have rights. They—"

"So do we," Tariq pointed out. "And yet here we are. Because they believe it will be better for the rest of society if we are gone. What's to stop them for using that same logic against our families? Our loved ones? And if they continue … eventually they won't need an excuse. No one will dare question them."

Cameron looked away. He didn't want to believe it; that much was clear. Who would? Who would want to believe that their own government would turn against them? But it was already happening.

And he'd seen it happen before.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He just hoped that Tariq was wrong.

Cameron swallowed hard, forcing down his lunch. He didn't want to believe it. He hadn't wanted to believe any of this from the start – that the government could force them to fight each other. Force them to kill. But at least that much could be explained by their fear. They were afraid of what some mutants could do. That much, at least, he could understand.

But his family was innocent. His family, the other contestants' families, their friends – they hadn't done anything to deserve this. They weren't mutants. They certainly weren't dangerous. Except…

Except they were. Well, not _them_ exactly. But what they knew. What they _would_ know, as soon as they saw the Games. The truth. The truth was dangerous. That was why Alvin had told them not to include any information about the Games in their letters to their families. But he and the others had to realize that their families would find out eventually. They were planning to show the Games on tv, after all. Once they realized mutants were killing each other, the whole _world_ would probably tune in.

And that was what they were counting on – Alvin and the others. Because while his family might know the truth – while _they_ might realize what was really going on – there were hundreds of other families who wouldn't. Who would be all too happy to believe that mutants were monsters who would kill each other at the first opportunity.

Cameron set his sandwich down. Even if his parents realized the truth – even if _all_ of their families realized the truth – would they be able to convince anyone else? Some of their families would probably try to spread the word. But what would happen if other people didn't believe them?

What would happen if they _did_?

Cameron glanced up at Tariq. "Do you really think they would hurt them – our families?"

"I don't know," Tariq admitted. "I hope not. I want to believe that your government is different. That they won't simply imprison innocent people because they know the truth. But if they believe our families to be a threat."

"Maybe we should write to them – tell them not to say anything."

Tariq shook his head. "It wouldn't help."

"Why not?"

"First, they might not even send the letter. It would be hard to tell them not to say anything without mentioning the thing you don't want them to talk about. But even if you did … what would you do if you received such a letter from your family – a brother or sister, maybe – if they were in your place?"

"I'd listen to them."

"Would you?"

"Yes!"

Tariq shook his head. "I don't think that's true, Cameron."

"How would you know?"

"Because if it were true – if you were willing to keep quiet because it was in your best interests – then you would also be willing to go along with these Games. You would be willing to fight, to kill, because that's what's going to keep you alive. And yet here you are, with me – someone who will do you no good in a fight – prepared to go into the Games and hide until the inevitable happens. Ready to do the right thing and die for it rather than compromise what you believe in." He shook his head. "If you received a letter like that, you would not be silent. And if your family is anything like you … then neither would they."

Cameron finally managed a smile. When Tariq put it like that … it sounded better. _He_ sounded better. Sounded braver. Sounded like someone who was standing for something, rather than a frightened little kid who was simply too scared to fight. He liked the sound of that.

He just hoped it was true.

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 36**

He just hoped they were right.

Mack put on his best smile as he wandered through the cafeteria. With the contestants' collars turned on and with guards at the door, he and the other members of the MAAB didn't really need to keep a close eye on them. They had cameras, after all, which would be just as good for watching them – and safer, too. But it was good for some of them to make an appearance now and then. It reminded the contestants that they were watching. Gave the impression that they were in control.

But if the last few days had taught them anything, it was that their control wasn't as absolute as they wanted it to be. Or even as firm as they wanted the contestants to _believe_ it was. Francine, once she had woken up, had finally gotten John's collar figured out, but that was the least of their problems. If she hadn't been able to do that, they could simply have kept him sedated until the Games. Once the contestants were in the arena, their collars would be turned off, anyway – unless something went wrong. The collars were mostly an assurance that the contestants would behave during training, and that the government would be able to safely retrieve the survivor at the end.

That, and a way to track them. Francine had placed a chip inside each of their collars, so even if the cameras experienced some sort of malfunction – or if a contestant found one of the areas the cameras didn't cover – they would still have a good idea of where each contestant was at all times. Unless, of course, a contestant managed to take their collar off. But he wasn't particularly concerned about losing track of Rory.

No, Rory wasn't the problem. Even what had happened with John wasn't the real problem – just a symptom of a larger one. They had chosen to proceed with younger contestants for the Games for several reasons, but chiefly because their emotions would be stronger. They were more likely to act based on feeling than reason. And their powers, while certainly formidable, were still largely untapped and untrained.

But for the same reasons, they were more unpredictable than older, more mature mutants would have been. They could be contained, but not entirely controlled. Even the three coaches seemed to have much more control over their actions than most of the contestants. Whether that was because of their age or because their powers were less dangerous to begin with, though, he couldn't be certain.

"Excuse me?" A voice beside him startled him out of his thoughts. Mack nearly jumped. How had she managed to sneak up on him? "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?" Her voice was sweet, but he knew better. There was a reason Victoria didn't seem to have found anyone to work with in the Games. She'd been talking to Rory and Reese on the first day, but that alliance seemed to have fallen apart rather quickly. Had they found out what she could do?

Mack quickly smiled right back. "Not at all. What can I do for you, Ms. Ramirez?"

Victoria took a step closer. "Actually, I thought there might be something I could do for you. You have a problem that needs solving."

"And that is?"

"A certain mutant who can turn into a bear and nearly killed two of your people."

"And one of yours."

Victoria shrugged. "Well, we're all about to kill each other anyway. Still, it seems to me that you could use a little help."

"What are you proposing?"

Victoria smiled. "You know what I can do. Work it out. You want him to cooperate? Turn off my collar for a few minutes, and he's all yours."

Mack hesitated. "And what if that's not what I want?"

Victoria shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"Once you're in the arena, we don't need mutants who are going to cooperate. We need mutants who are going to stir things up. Can you do that for me?"

Victoria smirked as she put the pieces together. "I can do anything. But that sounds a bit … dangerous. What's in it for me?"

"An ally who will do as you say. I've seen you trying to find people to work with. Didn't go so well, did it?"

"I don't need anyone."

 _Right._ "I'm sure you don't. But it wouldn't hurt." He gestured towards the door. "So what do you say?"

Victoria hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_

" _What would you have me do, Charles? I've heard these arguments before."_

" _That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since then."_

" _Yes, into_ us _. Are you sneaking around in here, Charles? Whatever are you looking for?"_

" _I'm looking for hope."_


	18. In Return

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** The Games start next chapter! Whew. Those of you who have read some of my other stuff know this is usually the point where I put up a sponsor poll and ask which tributes you would sponsor. Sponsoring isn't really a thing here - not yet, at least - but I'm going to put the poll up, anyway. The top three contestants or so will get _something_ \- assuming they survive the "bloodbath". Just be aware that it won't be a "sponsor gift" as we're used to thinking of them. Also, since the Games begin next chapter, this poll won't be up particularly long, so ... vote! :)

Results of the "favorite contestants" poll are up on the website, along with updated alliances on the contestants' page.

* * *

 **Training Day Three  
** **In Return**

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 26  
** **Coach**

All he had to do was stay out of the way.

Vincent shook his head as he watched Victoria and Mack leave the cafeteria. He'd overheard enough of their thoughts to know where they were going. What they were planning. He could try to stop them. Convince Victoria that it was a bad idea, that Mack was just trying to use her powers to find mutants who would get their Games started. She might even listen. And it was true; he was certain of that.

But that didn't mean it was a bad idea.

Victoria'a powers, after all, wouldn't be much use in an actual fight. Unless she could physically touch someone, she couldn't influence them, so anyone who could attack her from a distance would have a definite advantage. Working with John, on the other hand, would certainly play in her favor – at least for a while. With someone to do her bidding, she could stay away from the action for a while. John could take the risks, win the fights. It was a good strategy.

But only for her. For John…

Vincent clenched his fists. John was one of his contestants, too. But he couldn't help them both. And if he had to choose…

No. No, that wasn't fair. He didn't have to choose. Victoria was making a choice. Mack was making a choice. Even John might have a choice to make. He could simply stay out of it. But even that … even that was a choice. A choice not to interfere. Not to speak up.

But what if he did? If Victoria listened to him, she would be alone. And so would John. Even without Victoria prompting him to seek out a fight, there might be contestants who would consider John a reasonable target. He had attacked Jayden, after all. He'd nearly killed two members of the MAAB. He was obviously willing to fight. That made him an immediate threat – and one that the others might not feel bad for eliminating. He'd been willing to _start_ the fight, after all.

And that was what Victoria was counting on. Since he'd been willing to attack the other contestants before, no one would know that she was the one pulling his strings. She could ensure that he didn't turn on her. That he would act in _her_ best interests rather than his own. That didn't seem fair. Didn't seem right.

Right. Wrong. Every time he tried to apply those ideas to her powers, he came up with nothing. What would be the right use? _Any_ use of her powers involved removing free will from the other person. Because if it was something they would have been willing to do without her influence, she could simply ask. There was no need to influence them to do something they would have done anyway.

But asking her _not_ to use her powers … surely that was wrong, too. Even if they weren't in a life or death situation, her powers were a part of her. Asking her not to influence others would be like asking him not to eavesdrop on other people's thoughts. Sure, he did his best to block out thoughts that others wouldn't want him to hear, and he did his best to stop listening if something embarrassing or private came to their mind. But, if he was being honest, those thoughts were usually the loudest, the hardest to block. Was there really any difference between his power and hers?

Maybe. Maybe there was a difference, but it was only superficial. He could use his power to simply listen. By nature, hers involved changing others' actions. His power was easier to hide. But that didn't change the fact that he sometimes heard things a person would obviously have preferred not to share. They were both invading another's privacy.

Maybe that was why he hadn't stopped her.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

Why hadn't he stopped her?

Victoria glanced back at Vincent as she and Mack slipped out of the room. There was a part of her that had been hoping he would step in. That he would try to stop her. But maybe he realized that this was her best chance. It wasn't what she'd originally intended, but maybe … maybe this would be even better.

She'd assumed that Mack would want her to keep John calm. To force him to cooperate, keep him under control. But what he had in mind – forcing John to fight, maybe even to _start_ the fight – she wasn't as sure about.

But it was too late now. She and Mack were out the door before Vincent could stop them, and before anyone else could ask where they were going. Mack led her down one corridor, and then another. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the building. "Looks like you weren't taking any chances," Victoria remarked.

Mack scoffed. "After what happened, can you blame us?"

"No." That much was true, at least. She couldn't blame them for being careful. John was dangerous. And she was dangerous. Together, they'd be a perfect pair. He'd certainly be more useful than Rory and Reese. Maybe that wasn't much of a competition, but it would be good to have some real help.

Mack nodded to a room at the end of the hall, keeping his voice low – maybe so John couldn't hear them. "He's down there. But he might not let you get close. Any ideas?"

Victoria nodded. "A few. How's your acting?"

Mack smirked. "I'm a politician. What'd you have in mind?"

A few minutes later, Mack was dragging her down the hall. He flung the door open and gave her a shove. Not very hard, but she fell to the ground inside, anyway – nearly landing on John. "I'll be back for you in a moment – if he doesn't eat you first," Mack called harshly.

Victoria clenched her fists and glared at the door. "I wish he'd gotten _you_ instead of the other two."

That got John's attention. "You mean they're dead?"

No. No, they weren't; she knew that much, at least. She'd seen Alvin in the cafeteria the day before, talking to some of the younger contestants. But John didn't need to know that. "I don't know. They're not talking much. They cracked down a bit after you…" She trailed off. "Not that I blame you, you know. Not that _any_ of us blame you. Wish I'd had the guts to do the same thing. But my powers aren't as … well, physical."

John nodded. "Mine didn't seem to do much good. I was thinking that maybe we could break out, but when the girl got inside my head, I … I don't know. I just snapped." He sat up a little. "Didn't mean to go after her, really. I was just so _angry._ "

Victoria smirked. "Can't imagine why."

John chuckled a little. "Fair point. So what brings you here?"

Victoria blushed. "Tried to seduce a congressman. Didn't work."

John couldn't help a laugh. "Not a tactic I would have tried, I have to admit."

"I thought I might be able to convince him to turn this damn thing off, at least." She ran her fingers along her collar, which Mack _had_ , in fact, turned off – immediately after closing the door behind her. "Then I would've had a chance."

John shook his head. "Why? I didn't."

"Your power's physical. Mine is a bit more … persuasive in nature. I might even have been able to convince them to let us all go, but he wasn't dumb enough to let me get close."

"One of the others might be," John offered.

"Maybe. That's probably why he put me in here. Didn't want to take the chance that I'd cause any real harm." She tucked her knees to her chest, looking up at John.

"I guess they just want to keep us out of the way."

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

"I guess they just want to keep us out of the way."

John nodded a little. She was right. They were a threat – both of them. They'd tried to stand up to their captors, tried to change what was happening. But it had gotten them nowhere. "And the others?"

Victoria shook her head. "They didn't do anything. Can't really blame them for that, I suppose. They're scared. They don't want to ruin their chances by trying to help me. But…"

"But if _all_ of us helped each other, rather than fighting each other—"

"Not going to happen."

"I know." As much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. That chance was gone. It had been gone the moment Clara had refused to join in his escape attempt, the moment Vincent hadn't even tried to help him. Instead, Clara had turned on him. Vincent had tried to stop him. The little girl – the one who had gotten into his head – had tried to stop him. They didn't understand that he had only been trying to help them. He'd been trying to help them _all_.

But if they didn't want his help, then maybe … maybe it was time to help himself – and the only other person who had been brave enough to take a stand. "Were you working with anyone before…?"

Victoria shook her head. "Thought I might be more appealing if there wasn't any … well, competition. Didn't realize it would take this long to get him alone, I suppose. They haven't shown their faces much since you … I know you were trying to help. But they've certainly been more cautious around us." For a moment, there was silence. "What about you?" Victoria asked hesitantly. "Did you have any partners before…?"

"I thought I did," John admitted. And it was true. He and Clara would have made a good team. But she had betrayed him. There was no going back to that now. She had probably found someone else to work with. Someone who wouldn't hurt her chances.

But Victoria … she was in a different position. She had already defied their captors. His actions wouldn't ruin her chances any more than hers would ruin his. In all likelihood, they were both as good as dead. If the government had any influence at all during the Games, they would see to it that neither of them left the arena alive. Working together wouldn't drag either of them down. "Do you think…?" he started, but let it hang in the air for a moment. His last partnership hadn't ended so well. What made him think this was any different.

But it was different. Everything about it _felt_ different. There was something different about her. About _them._ She could understand what he had done in a way that Clara hadn't. That alone would give them an advantage.

And her power – that was even better. If she had been confident enough in her abilities to try to seduce one of their captors, then maybe she could exert some influence over the other contestants once they were actually in the arena.

"You'd want to work with me?" Victoria's voice was quiet. Hesitant. She'd said that she hadn't sought out other companionship because she'd wanted the congressman to think she was available, but maybe the truth was simpler than that. Maybe no one else had wanted to work with her. Maybe they had been afraid – afraid of what she might be able to convince them to do.

But he wasn't afraid. Not of her. Not of what they could accomplish together. He could attack their opponents physically, but _she_ could attack their minds. Alone, either of them would be a force to be reckoned with. Together, they would be unstoppable.

At least, that was how he felt. For the first time since his failure of an escape attempt, he felt … strong. "Yes," he agreed, holding out his hand. "I want to."

He couldn't imagine how he had ever wanted anything else.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

She just wanted to stay out of the way.

Cyrene drummed her fingers on the table – a table in the corner that she hadn't left since returning from her session. There was nothing left to be done. Three sessions with a coach – that was all the preparation they had been allowed. Three hours over the course of three days. It didn't seem like enough.

Some of them had managed to get more time, of course. A group of five contestants could, between the five of them, practice for fifteen hours rather than five. But that arrangement came with its own drawbacks. If she'd been working with some of the other contestants, she may have had more time … but she would also have received less personal attention. As it was, Vincent's entire focus during their sessions had been on her, rather than on a group.

And, technically, there _had_ been a group – her and her clones. That didn't earn her more sessions, but it did give her an advantage over the other groups. She could _trust_ her clones. Her clones wouldn't have to die in the Games in order for her to survive.

Still, if she died, they died, too – or, at least, she assumed that was how it worked. She wasn't exactly in a hurry to find out. Nor was she eager to find out what would happen to _her_ if one of her clones was killed. If everything went the way she wanted it, none of them – her or her clones – would have to die.

If everything went the way she wanted it. What were the chances of that? With her clones, she could outnumber any other group in the arena, but would that really be enough of an advantage? Once they appeared, after all, they didn't have any particular powers. Sure, they could be used as a distraction. And some of them could fight – although most of them didn't seem to want to. Or maybe simply the idea of attacking a large group of clones would be enough to convince the other contestants she wasn't their best target.

But even if she wasn't their best target – or their _first_ target – eventually, everyone would be a target. Once their numbers began to dwindle, she wouldn't be able to rely on simply intimidating the others with strength in numbers. She would have to find a way to defeat them.

'Defeat them.' It sounded better that way. It was a more pleasant way of putting it than 'killing them.' But, in the end, the result was the same. Whether she killed them or whether her clones did or whether someone else entirely did the deed, the fact remained that twenty-nine people would have to die if she wanted to survive.

Cyrene swallowed the last bit of her sandwich, trying to force the thought from her head. She couldn't afford to start thinking about them – about the other twenty-nine contestants. She couldn't afford to feel sorry for them – not if she wanted to survive. Everyone else in the room was surely thinking the same thing. Trying to figure out how to survive. Trying to figure out how to live, despite knowing that, if they lived, the rest of the contestants would die.

Cyrene closed her eyes. That wasn't her fault. She hadn't made the rules. She wasn't the one who had thought it would be a good idea to force thirty kids into an arena and tell them to fight to the death. She never would have thought of that. None of them would have. As much as it wasn't her fault, she had to admit that it wasn't the other contestants' fault, either. Whatever any of them did in the arena, it was only because they wanted to survive.

She had to hold onto that. She couldn't start blaming the others. They weren't the real enemy. None of them. Even the boy who had attacked one of the others – he had only been trying to escape. The other girl had stopped him. He must have been furious, especially if he'd thought he really had a chance.

But he hadn't. None of them had any chance of escaping. Their only chance was to survive. To fight. To kill. So that was what she would do. What all of them would do.

They didn't have any other choice.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

They didn't have any other choice.

Taylor swung as hard as she could, dodging the next blow from Terry's bone-sword. He was getting better. Faster. Maybe she was, too. But would it be enough? Enough to save their lives once they were actually in the arena?

No. No, not _their_ lives. Her life. She couldn't afford to start worrying about him. Not really. He was nice to have around. And it was good to have company. But she couldn't start getting attached. She couldn't afford to.

Taylor clenched her piece of pipe tightly. She hadn't realized just how attached she'd become to the other kids she'd been living with for the past few years – not until she'd been torn away from them. Would it be the same with Terry? Would he grow on her in the same way? And if – no, _when_ – he died, would it feel the same?

No. No, probably not. As friendly as they had become, the fact remained that they'd only known each other for a few days. That wasn't long enough – not really. Not long enough to get attached. Certainly not long enough to really trust each other. They could work together as a team, yes, but once working together wasn't in their interest any more…

 _That's enough for now._ Vincent's voice on the wind no longer caught her off guard. The breeze seemed a little bit softer today, but it was still enough. She could hear him plain and clear. But why wasn't he just speaking?

"Enough?" Terry asked. "We've still got a half hour left."

It was true. But there had been something in Vincent's tone – something serious, something urgent. But his expression was neutral as he took a seat on the ground and motioned for them to do the same. "You'll be in the Games tomorrow. It might be better to get some rest. Save your strength. Besides, I want to talk about strategy."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Strategy?" She'd assumed everyone's strategy was going to be roughly the same – stay as far away from each other as possible, try to avoid a fight, and then…

And then what? Eventually, someone would start a fight. She didn't mean for it to be her, but if someone attacked them, what else could they do besides fight back? But even that … well, that wasn't much of a strategy. She'd spent the last few years on the streets playing it by ear. Being adaptable, never daring to fall into the same routine. That had kept her alive.

"Strategy," Vincent repeated. "Flexibility is good, but it's also good to consider what the other contestants might do. If you can anticipate _their_ moves, it'll make it easier to avoid a fight when you want to."

'When you want to.' He had left the other half of the explanation unsaid. If they had some idea of what the other contestants might do, it would make it easier to avoid a fight … or to find one. To attack them when they didn't expect it, kill them when they weren't looking. Taylor shook her head. "What did you have in mind?"

Vincent shrugged. "A game – of sorts. Figured it might be helpful to talk through some different scenarios. Let's start with something simple. A bear comes charging at you. What do you do?"

Taylor smirked a little. He hadn't chosen that example by accident. After what John had done, the idea of a bear charging at them seemed like a very real possibility. But the scenario wasn't as simple as Vincent seemed to think. "That depends," Taylor shrugged. "Where am I? How far away is he?"

Vincent smiled. "Good. That's the right idea. No two situations are going to be the same. So let's say you're out in the open somewhere – somewhere like this, but with no buildings nearby, nothing to really hide behind – and let's say he's a good distance away. Like he just came into view." But, just as he said it, she caught another thought, whispered on the wind. _And let's say not everyone who seems to want you in the arena actually wants to see the Games happen._ He leaned forward a little.

"What then?"

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

He wasn't quite sure what Vincent was expecting in return.

Terry shook his head, exchanging a glance with Taylor. So what? Who cared if not all of the government – or maybe not even all of the MAAB – wanted them in the arena? If they weren't going to _do_ anything about it, it didn't make one bit of difference whether they _wanted_ it to happen. It was happening, and would keep happening unless they decided to get off their asses and actually _do_ something to stop it.

Terry shook his head. "Doesn't matter. A bear is a bear. If we can get away, great. If not, we fight. That's how this works, right?"

Vincent nodded. "That's how this works." _But maybe it doesn't have to be._

Taylor crossed her arms. "So what would you do about it, if you were us?"

"Exactly what Terry said. Stay away, if you can. Let the Games play themselves out. Don't let your guard down, but keep your eyes open for … opportunities."

"Opportunities?" Terry repeated. "Like what?"

Vincent shrugged. "Like the opportunity you took when the two of you decided to work with each other. If that chance presents itself again in the arena, take a good look at it."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "You mean … work with the others, if we can?"

"If you can. If you're in a position to do so, and if you think you can trust them."

Trust. That was the thing. Could any of them really trust each other? Could he really trust Taylor? "Can we?" Taylor asked, apparently still on the same page. "Can we trust them?"

Was she still talking about the contestants? Or was this about the members of the MAAB who supposedly didn't want the Games to happen? Maybe it didn't matter. The answer was the same. "We can trust them to do what's best for them," Terry answered. "If that happens to be the same thing as what's best for us, fine. If not … then no."

Vincent nodded reluctantly. "You're right." _About all of them._ "If you see a situation where your interests happen to align with theirs – or if you can make them _think_ that they do – then take it."

Terry fiddled with one of the bones that was still sticking out of his skin. Not wanting to trust anyone in the Games was one thing. Actually _manipulating_ them – lying to his fellow mutants for his own benefit – that felt … different.

"I know," Vincent assured him. "It's one thing to avoid a fight, or to face it head-on. Trickery is … well, it's harder to justify. Harder to live with, maybe. But, in the end … well, in the end, the result is the same."

Terry nodded. He was right. Whether they were fighting the others or playing dirty, the Games would end the same way. Twenty-nine of them would be dead. One person would live. Whether that one person fought fair or stabbed the others in the back … that wouldn't make one bit of difference – to any of them.

Taylor smirked. "Any more brilliant advice about how to deal with bears?"

Vincent smiled a little. "It was never about bears. And it's not about bones, or about how fast you can heal. This isn't about any of your powers – not really. It's about what you're really capable of – and what you're _willing_ to do – when your lives are on the line. That's all this is about. All it's _ever_ been about."

"And what would you do?" Terry asked. "If you were in our place. Would you fight?"

Vincent's answer came without hesitation. "Yes. I'd fight." _But_ who _you fight – that's up to you._

But was it?

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

It was times like this that his power really got in the way.

Simon closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. But the voices in the room next door were distracting. Usually, walls muffled the sounds – at least a little bit – but everything seemed so clear. Maybe it was simply the fact that his collar had been turned on for so long. Maybe his ears were overcompensating, trying to feed him all the sounds they could. Or maybe … maybe the training was helping.

But being able to hear more – that could be good or bad. It was certainly useful if he happened to overhear something important, but it was also distracting. And, so far, he hadn't overheard anything that seemed significant. No one seemed to have any real plan for what they were going to do once they were in the arena.

Part of that, of course, was because no one had really told them what to expect. No one had mentioned where – or even how big – the arena would be. He, Reese, and Rory planned to stay as far away from the others as they could – that much had been easy to decide – but if the arena was too small, would that even be possible?

"You sure you don't know anything about what they're planning?" Simon asked Ian for what was probably the tenth time. " _Anything_ that might be useful?"

Ian shook his head. "I've told you all I know. They have to know that anything they tell us is likely to find its way to you, one way or another."

"But if they told _you_ , then you'd have a better idea what to prepare us for," Rory pointed out. "That's what they want, isn't it? For us to be prepared?"

Ian shrugged. "What they want is a fight. This training … it's more for you then it is for their plan. They don't really care if you're prepared; they just want you to _think_ you are. Or, more importantly, to _feel_ like you are. Because the more prepared you feel, the less hesitant you'll be in the arena. And if there's one thing they _don't_ want, it's hesitation."

"Because they want it to look real," Reese finished. "It's all a show, but they don't want it to _look_ like another reality show."

"Exactly," Ian agreed. "They want the spontaneity that comes from not really having any idea what's coming. The less they tell you, the more real your reactions will be."

Simon shook his head. "And what if we have a reaction they don't like?"

"That's what editing is for," Ian pointed out. "Still, I wouldn't do anything to deliberately upset them. They don't want to send the Sentinels in to kill _all_ of you or anything, but it wouldn't be a stretch for one or two of you to simply disappear."

Simon swallowed hard. He hadn't been thinking about trying to upset the people in charge, but even the thought that he might be killed for saying or doing the wrong thing made his stomach churn.

Ian laid a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much about that, though. They'd probably only do that if they thought you were a threat to _them_ – which you're not, unless you make yourself one. As long as they can control you – or as long as they think they can – they'll probably let the Games play themselves out. That makes for a better experiment."

"Experiment?"

Ian nodded. "That's all this is to some of them. An experiment. A test."

Simon hesitated. There was something odd in Ian's voice. Something even his ears couldn't quite place. Something, perhaps, about the way his coach had specified ' _some_ of them.' Did that mean not all of them thought of this as an experiment? That not _all_ of them thought of the contestants as little more than lab rats?

Maybe. The woman who had saved Jayden from John, for one, certainly thought their lives were worth _something_. But even she apparently hadn't cared enough to do anything to help them. If she _really_ wanted to help, she would find a way to let them go.

Anything short of that didn't really matter.

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19**

Anything short of winning wasn't really going to matter.

Juliska took a deep breath, trying to focus. Since it was the last day, Maria had decided to switch up their training routine. Instead of targeting robots today, they were tracking each other. She had split them up into two groups – Ben and Cassidy on one team, and Isadore, Natasha, and her on the other. But despite the fact that the Games were only a day away – less, even – it didn't really seem to have hit the other two yet that this was real. It was happening. Once they were in the arena, it wouldn't matter how much fun they were having, or how well they worked together as a group. All that mattered would be who could survive the longest when they were being pursued not by their teammates, but by contestants who actually wanted to kill them.

No. No, that wasn't quite right. None of them _wanted_ to kill anyone. She certainly didn't. And, for the moment, she was perfectly content to be on the team that had been tasked with hiding from the others, rather than tracking them down. But once the other team found them, she had no doubt, Maria would want to switch up their roles, and they would be expected to find Cassidy and Ben.

Juliska silently pointed to the building, and Natasha and Isadore nodded. They had left a dummy trail for the others a ways back, and had doubled back towards the buildings. Quietly, they ducked behind the wall, and Isadore silently lifted some snow over their tracks. "Now what?" he whispered eagerly.

He wanted a plan. But, for now, the plan seemed to simply be 'stay out of sight.' That was what Maria had told them to do, after all: avoid the others. "We stay here," Juliska whispered back, "and we don't do anything stupid."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's boring," she hissed. "We're supposed to be training, not hiding."

"But we'll _need_ to be able to hide, too," Juliska pointed out. Natasha didn't seem to want to stay still for more than a few minutes at a time, and that could be trouble once they were in the arena. Maybe it was better to know that now, but it was still annoying.

And, even worse, her restlessness seemed to be rubbing off on Isadore. "It can't hurt to practice a _little_ ," he coaxed. "Please?"

 _What am I, your mother?_ "All right, fine," Juliska finally agreed. "But nothing with smoke or steam. They'd be able to see that."

Isadore grinned. "Perfect. So practice being able to light a fire without smoke."

Juliska raised an eyebrow. Maybe he was right. The fire that came from her didn't seem to produce any smoke naturally, but as soon as anything else caught on fire, that would smoke as much as it normally would. Natasha nodded towards a nearby bush. "Just try. If It starts to smoke too bad, Isadore can douse it, and I'll keep the smoke near the ground."

Juliska shook her head. Could Natasha really do that? She'd done just fine increasing the effect of gravity on tangible objects, but smoke? Would that be the same? Maybe she simply wanted to find out. And, whether she could or not, surely it was better to find out now, before they were actually in a position where it could cost them their lives.

"Stand back, then," Juliska whispered, and silently directed a small stream of fire towards the bush. Sure enough, it caught fire, the wet wood smoking immediately. "Shit," Juliska whispered as the smoke shot straight up towards the sky, not responding at all to Natasha's attempts to control it. Isadore doused the bush with snow, but that only made the smoke billow more. "Great," Juliska muttered. "If they didn't know where we were before, they do now."

Isadore shrugged. "So let's use that."

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

She just hoped there was a reason the others had set a fire.

Cassidy turned toward Ben, who shrugged. It hadn't taken them long to figure out that the first trail had been meant to lead them in the wrong direction. The other three wouldn't have been so careless with their tracks. But while it might not have fooled her and Ben, other contestants in the arena might have assumed they had no way to cover them, or simply hadn't considered it. So it was a move that might work.

But lighting a fire – what good could that possibly do? Maybe they _wanted_ to be found. What if one of them had been hurt, and they were trying to signal for help? But the smoke, as far as she could tell, was close to the building. If they'd wanted help, they could call for it.

No, there must be another reason. "They must be trying to draw us away from where they're really hiding," Ben reasoned. "Set a fire, and then run somewhere else – maybe leaving Juliska behind for a little while to give the other two a head start. That's what I'd do."

Was it? Was it really what he'd do? Sure, there was no danger to Juliska right now. She and Ben weren't actually trying to kill their teammates. But once they were in the arena, was it really a good idea to leave one of them behind to create a distraction while the others fled? Would he really ask one of the others to do that if he thought there was danger nearby?

Maybe. After all, even though they were working as a team now, a _team_ wasn't going to win the Games. One person was going to win the Games. One. And if she wanted it to be her, eventually she would _have_ to leave the others behind.

"So where do you think the others are?" she asked, hoping he had a better idea than 'somewhere else.'

"I don't know," Ben admitted. "But by the time we reach the fire, they'll be gone."

"We need a better way to find them," Cassidy agreed.

Ben shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions."

Cassidy nodded. "Okay. How far away can you heat the snow into water?"

"Closer is better. But now's as good a time as any to test that. How far away can you control the water?"

"Closer's better," she agreed. "But, like you said, now's a good time to try."

And it was. Better than asking those same questions once they were already in the arena. "Near the fire, then?" Ben asked, catching on to the plan.

"A little farther, if you can," Cassidy agreed as the pair crouched down, out of sight. If their plan worked, they wouldn't _have_ to go looking for Juliska, Natasha, and Isadore. Ben reached out, and Cassidy could feel the snow melting to water in the distance.

"Now," Ben whispered, and the water rose a little. Cassidy heard a faint yelp in the distance, and Ben immediately froze the water back. "Come on," he called, racing towards where the smoke had been. "I don't know how long I can keep the heat out of the ice if Juliska tries to melt it."

Cassidy hurried to catch up, her heart pumping. Had it worked? She'd only managed to raise the water an inch or two – just enough to trap them, if everything had gone according to plan. If the others had even _been_ in the area where Ben had melted the snow.

Soon, they reached the building, and Ben burst out laughing. Juliska hadn't even bothered trying to melt the ice. There, standing where Ben had frozen the ice, were two pairs of shoes … but none of the others. Cassidy couldn't help a smile.

"I guess this is going to be harder than we thought."

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

It was getting harder to ignore the uneasiness in the room.

Reese glanced around the cafeteria as the last group of contestants trickled in from their training sessions, accompanied by the three coaches. Most of the others sat together in small groups, speaking in hushed whispers. That would have been a welcome change from the day's earlier silence if it weren't for the _reason_ they were all anxious. Training was over. Soon, they would be in the Games.

But how soon? Surely they weren't going to send them into the Games tonight. Reese drummed his fingers on the table. "Do you think they're going to tell us what comes next?"

Rory shrugged. "I wouldn't."

That apparently caught Simon off-guard, too. "What do you mean?"

Rory shook his head. "I mean, if I were them, and I wanted a group of teenagers to fight to the death, I'd want them to be as anxious as possible _before_ putting them in the arena. So I wouldn't tell them what was coming. I would want them to be nervous and jumpy, because then they'd be more likely to make mistakes. I wouldn't want to do anything that would make them feel more comfortable or prepared."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "I guess I should be glad you're on our side."

Rory nodded. "Right. _Our side_. That's the other thing I wouldn't have wanted to let us do. Interact, form groups, help each other. They have to realize that's only going to help us last longer in the arena."

Simon shrugged. "Of course they do. But I guess they're not really worried about how long the Games take … as long as they get the result they want."

 _The results they want_. Reese swallowed a bit of baked potato. The result the MAAB wanted was twenty-nine dead mutants. As long as they got that, they probably didn't care how long it took. And, from the look of things, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that they would get exactly what they want.

Because although most of the contestants had found at least one other person to work with, they were beginning to avoid anyone outside their own little groups. It had been at least a day since he'd spoken – even in passing – to any of the contestants besides Rory and Simon. He'd found a few friends, yes, but, aside from that, he hadn't bothered getting to know any of the others.

And that was probably a good strategy, but it also made it more likely that the Games would go according to plan. It would be easier to kill people if he didn't really know them. And it would also make it easier for them to kill _him._

Suddenly, the sound of a whistle shook him from his thoughts. Reese glanced in the direction of the whistle as the room immediately fell silent. Two members of the MAAB – the man in charge and a more military-looking man, stood off to the side of the room. It was the military man who had blown the whistle, but the other one who spoke.

"Thank you for your attention," the man began. As if they'd had a choice. As if they wanted to be here. "I hope your day has been productive. Help yourselves to some dinner, if you haven't already. At eight o' clock tonight, you'll be escorted back to your rooms. I would advise you to get as much sleep as you can; it'll be an early morning tomorrow. Good luck."

"Good luck," Rory scoffed as the pair of them left. "Yeah, right."

Reese shook his head. "So much for not telling us what to expect."

Rory smiled a little. "I said that was what _I'd_ do in their place. Guess they're not as smart."

"Or they're trying to make us _think_ we know what's coming," Simon offered. "How do we know he's telling the truth?"

They didn't. The government was already forcing them to fight to the death. What was lying, on top of that? Simon was right.

They couldn't trust a word any of them said.

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

They would be returning at any moment.

Austin took a deep breath as the clock on the wall inched closer and closer to eight o' clock. "It's okay," Verona offered reassuringly. "At least we have tonight. We'll get some sleep. We'll be rested by tomorrow morning. That's good."

No. No, it wasn't. None of this was good. And he already knew he wouldn't be able to sleep – at least not well. But he didn't say it out loud. He didn't want to seem like he was feeling sorry for himself. Not when the others were in exactly the same position. None of them, he was sure, would be able to sleep well, either.

Jayden was holding Hiro close. Verona kept shifting uncomfortably in her seat. All around the room, their fellow contestants seemed to be growing more and more nervous. In less than twenty-four hours, they would be in the arena. The Games would begin. The fighting, the killing, the dying – everything would start tomorrow.

And he wasn't ready.

Maybe he never would be. Maybe it was silly to expect anyone to really be ready for something like this. But he had assumed, three days ago, that training would help. That he would be at least a little more ready to think about killing after a few days of practice.

But, if anything, the training had only made it worse. Because he hadn't really practiced anything that would help him _kill_ the other contestants – just help him get away faster. And working with Verona and Jayden … well, that was a mixed bag. On the one hand, it would be good to have company. But, on the other hand, what if they died?

No. No, it wasn't even a matter of 'what if.' Because out of their little group of three, at least two of them _were_ going to die. There was no escaping that. And he couldn't help but wonder whether the few tributes who were still sitting alone – an older boy in one corner and a red-headed girl alone at a table in the center of the room – had the right idea. Whether it would have been better not to get attached.

But it was too late for that now. He _was_ attached. There was no avoiding that. He, Verona, and Jayden would be facing the arena – and whatever awaited them there – together. For better or worse. Whether it helped them or got them killed. There was no splitting up now.

And there wasn't even a large part of him that wanted to – even if it might have been better to go it alone in the first place. Because he didn't _want_ to be alone. As frightening as the thought of the Games was, the idea of not having anyone with him, of being alone with twenty-nine other contestants trying to kill him – that was even worse.

But he _would_ be alone eventually – if he wanted to win. Austin held his breath as the clock on the wall struck eight. Guards entered the room, and, silently, helplessly, the contestants headed back to their rooms. Austin gave Verona's hand a gentle squeeze, smiled as well as he could at Jayden, and scratched behind Hiro's ears before one of the guards herded him into his room.

His room. It was little more than a cell. They all were. But it was still better than what was waiting for them in the arena. Better than what he would be facing tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Austin lay down in a corner, huddling against the wall. He closed his eyes, but he knew better. If sleep came, it wouldn't be for a long while. There were too many thoughts racing around his mind. Too many worries, too many questions that had no answers – or, at least, no good ones. What would happen once they were in the arena? Who would start the fighting? Would it begin right away? How long would it be before his fellow contestants started dying? Was he really ready to fight? To kill?

How long before he would have to make that choice?

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51**

He could only hope they'd made the right choice.

Judah shook his head. "I still say we should have taken them to the arena tonight. They're more likely to fight when they're tired, on edge. Let them get a good night's sleep, and—"

Alvin leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. "And what? Do you _really_ think any of them are going to get a 'good night's sleep'? No, most of them are going to lie awake all night, and, come morning, they'll be even more tired, anxious, restless than they are now."

Mack nodded his agreement. "Besides, it'll look better in daylight. The arena. The contestants. Sure, we have night vision settings on the cameras, but the more light we have, the better."

Judah rolled his eyes. "I don't care how it _looks_."

Mack shrugged. "You should. Sure, we can edit later, but the start of the Games will almost certainly be something we want to show. If the audience thinks we stuck them in the arena in the dead of night, they might think we're up to something."

"We _are_ up to something," Hans pointed out.

"But we don't want _them_ to know that," Lillian reminded them.

"Doesn't matter," Alvin mumbled. "I've told you before that—"

"That the truth will come out eventually," Nicholas finished. "True, but it's better for us if they don't learn what we're really doing until they've already adjusted to the idea of the Games. Say, three or four years."

"Won't take that long," Alvin chuckled. "My calculations—"

Judah glared. "Alvin, how many times do we have to tell you? None of us give a damn about your calculations. Did your precious calculations stop you and Francine from getting attacked by one of the mutants? Did you predict _that_?"

"Predicted we'd need a doctor," Alvin shrugged. "Close enough. By the way, have you found one yet?"

Nicholas nodded. "She's flying in tonight. Part of the reason I decided to hold off until tomorrow before flying the contestants out." He turned to Lillian. "You're sure the arena's ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

"And you're sure there won't be any more problems with the collars?"

"Francine says they're good to go. She's not in the best condition, but Alvin double-checked her work, and—"

"And I'm _also_ not in the best condition," Alvin pointed out. "I can't say with certainty that we didn't miss anything, but the collars aren't what I'd be worried about."

"Fair enough," Nicholas agreed. "Then I don't think there's anything more to be done tonight. Get some sleep, if you can, and be ready bright and early tomorrow."

One by one, the others trickled out of the room. Nicholas sighed. "You think they're ready, Judah?"

Judah shrugged. "As ready as they'll ever be. Three days of training isn't enough, but—"

Nicholas shook his head. "Not the contestants. The others. The coaches. The other members of the board. Are they really ready to go through with this?"

"Doesn't matter," Judah pointed out. "It's a bit late to back out now."

And it was. Even if they abruptly decided against proceeding with the Games, what could they possibly do with these thirty contestants, all of whom now knew exactly what they were planning? They could keep them here indefinitely, of course, but was that really any better than putting them in the arena? At least this way, one of them would be free.

At least, that's what they hoped the contestants would assume. That the survivor would be free to return to their family, to their old life. The truth was a bit more complicated than that. It always was. But that wasn't his problem.

None of this was, really – not at this point. His job had mostly been to make sure the contestants behaved before the Games. Once they were in the arena … well, that wasn't really his area of expertise. The technology was Francine's area. The strategy was up to Lillian and Alvin. Nicholas would be calling the shots. He would just be watching from the background.

And that was good enough for him.

* * *

" _Don't give up on them, Erik."_

" _What would you have me do, Charles? I've heard these arguments before."_

" _That was a long time ago. Mankind has evolved since then."_

" _Yes, into_ us _. Are you sneaking around in here, Charles? Whatever are you looking for?"_

" _I'm looking for hope."_

" _I will bring you hope, old friend. And I ask only one thing in return: Don't get in my way."_


	19. Peace

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the sponsor poll are up on the blog. Congratulations to Jayden, Verona, Austin, and Akil, who will be receiving ... something, at some point during the Games if they survive this chapter.

New poll up on my profile, this time asking which alliance(s) are your favorite. This one will be up a bit longer. It won't really have an effect on the Games, since members of alliances will start dying off, but I'm curious.

* * *

 **Day One  
** **Peace**

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

 **March 20th, 09:03 AKST**

The island always looked so peaceful from overhead.

Alvin watched the screen from the cockpit as they approached St. Matthew Island. After considering several sites for the Games, he and Lillian had decided this was the best spot. Twenty-two miles long and two to three miles wide, it was big enough to provide the contestants room to maneuver, but small enough that they would eventually find each other. There was enough vegetation to keep them alive, several small lakes with fish, and a hearty population of voles, squirrels, and arctic foxes. It was cold – thirty-six degrees, to be precise – but not freezing, and between the contestants' warm clothes and whatever shelter they managed to build, they weren't likely to freeze to death unless the weather changed drastically. Everything about it was perfect.

And, most importantly, it was unpopulated and extremely isolated. The chances of any of the contestants escaping to safety were as minimal as they could be. That probably wouldn't stop some of them from trying, of course, once they grew desperate enough.

But they weren't that desperate yet. That much was clear as he made his way from the cockpit to where the contestants and their coaches were waiting, safely buckled into their seats. For the most part, they just looked tired – bleary-eyed and droopy. He doubted any of them had slept well, and they'd boarded the plane at five in the morning. Now they were finally nearing the end of their four-hour flight.

For the contestants, though, the Games were just beginning. They'd each been provided with a sturdy pair of dark brown boots, a thick pair of deep green hiking pants – complete with plenty of pockets – a black short-sleeved shirt, a khaki jacket, a belt, and a sea green bandanna that some had wrapped around their heads or necks and some had simply tucked in one of their pockets. They looked almost like a little army, ready to go into battle. No one would ever know simply by looking that they were about to fight _each other_.

Alvin took a step closer, turning a little so he could see all of them. His right eye was still bandaged, and Nicholas had suggested that he remain with the rest of the MAAB and let the pilots handle this themselves, but he'd insisted on accompanying the contestants this far, at least. He owed them that much…

"Good morning." He smiled a little, hoping that might be enough to cheer one or two of them up. It wasn't. "We're nearly to the drop point, so I'll make this brief. We're heading for an island. In a moment, you'll each be provided with a backpack that contains a parachute, as well as a few other tools that you may find useful – and which have been distributed at random. Once I get the signal from the cockpit, the back door will open, and you'll parachute down to the island. Once you reach land – _land_ , mind you, not water – your collars will deactivate, and you'll be free to use your powers. So I would aim for land as best you can," he added with a glance at Cassidy and Isadore. Landing in the water might have given them an advantage if their collars were off. He had no doubt they could swim, of course, but the water was even colder than the air. Without a way to warm it, they wouldn't last long.

"We'll be watching from an island about two miles to the north," he continued. "But I wouldn't try to swim there; the Sentinels will be guarding it. Aside from that, the nearest land's more than a hundred miles away in any direction. There's only one way out – when we come to pick up the survivor at the end of the Games." He let that sink in for a moment. "Right. I suppose you'll be wanting your parachutes, then. Ian, Maria, Vincent, come give me a hand." The coaches quickly unbuckled themselves, and, together, they handed a backpack to each of the thirty contestants. "Don't peek yet," Alvin cautioned. "Just put them on – quickly. We're almost there."

To his relief, the contestants did as they were told. "The green strap opens your parachute," Alvin continued. "The red one detaches it from your backpack. Try not to get the two mixed up. Pull it as soon as you like, but keep in mind that the sooner you pull it, the longer it'll take you to reach land – and the more contestants will be there by the time you arrive. But pull it too late, and the landing won't be quite so soft." He glanced over at Ian, who was probably doing a few quick calculations. "If you have any last-minute advice for them, now's the time."

Ian shook his head. "Don't be stupid. It's not a race. Getting there safely is more important than getting there first. There's plenty of island for all of you." The other two nodded. And while that was technically true – the island was plenty large enough for the thirty of them to spread out comfortably – he couldn't help but wonder if a few of the contestants might play it differently. While the Games weren't strictly a race – there was no reward for how _quickly_ the winner managed to eliminate the other contestants – there might be some advantage in speed.

"If you're working with someone, jump together, and open your parachutes at the same time," Maria advised. "You don't want to get split up this early on, and you don't want to waste time finding each other once you're on the ground." Sound advice, as well, especially considering quite a few of her contestants were working together. But it could also work in reverse. If there were contestants who were planning to target someone else specifically, they could make sure they jumped at the same time, ended up in the same area…

Everyone looked to Vincent, who was silent for a moment before deciding. "Stay calm," he said at last, though whether he was trying to reassure the contestants, his fellow coaches, or himself, Alvin wasn't sure. "Rest when you can. Don't over-exert yourselves at the start. If you've got something useful in your backpack, remember it's going to have to last – and you don't know exactly how long. There are thirty of you. It's going to be a while before … before a survivor is decided."

 _Before most of you die._ That's what he'd been about to say, certainly, but he'd stopped himself. They didn't need to be reminded of that. Every moment from now on would be a reminder of why they were here. "I know all of you want to survive," Vincent continued, his voice breaking a little. "All of you want to live. But don't forget … don't forget _why_ you want to live. Don't forget what you have to come back to – _who_ you have to come back to. Hold onto that, if you're starting to lose hope." He shook his head. "Hold onto that."

Alvin nodded as Vincent took the other coaches' hands in his. But before he could say anything else, the pilot's voice called from the cockpit. "Thirty seconds!"

Alvin scanned the contestants one more time, making sure their parachutes were tightly fastened. "All right, then," he nodded as the door at the back of the plane began to open. "Go for it. And good luck."

One by one, they jumped. Alvin saw a few parachutes open almost immediately; others had apparently decided to wait. One contestant and then another jumped, not daring to look back. A few hesitated, but, eventually, only two remained.

Tariq laid a hand gently on Cameron's shoulder. "Come on. You can do this."

Cameron shook his head. "I can't. I can't. I just … what if we don't jump? I don't think I can do this. I – please, I don't want to jump. I don't…"

Alvin took a step closer. "Look, if you don't jump soon, we'll be out of range. Not a problem, really. I'll just have the pilot make another pass. But that'll put you a few minutes behind the others. And two little parachutes floating down through the sky – that'll make an awfully tempting target for anyone who's already on the ground and whose powers have a bit of range. It's better if you jump now."

Tariq nodded. "He's right. Come on. Together." He took Cameron's hand and gently led him to the edge of the plane. Cameron was still shaking his head. Tariq glanced over at Vincent. "One. Two."

"Three," Vincent finished, giving Cameron a shove. At the same time, Tariq pulled the younger boy forward, and together they toppled over the edge.

Alvin clapped Vincent on the back as the door closed. "Right call. With any luck, the delay will mean they'll land on a different part of the island. As long as they make it safely to the ground, they should be fine for a while."

"For a while," Vincent repeated, shaking his head. "And what are your plans for us, now that our part is over?"

"You're our guests, of course – on Hall Island, a little to the north. A few of the others wanted to keep you back at the base, but I argued for bringing you along."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Alvin shrugged. "The more you see up close this time, the better you'll be able to prepare next year's batch of lucky contestants. That, and you're better company than the rest of the board. They're so stuffy. Although I suspect none of us will be pleasant company after a few days of this."

"Of watching them kill each other – that's what you mean," Maria shot back.

Alvin nodded. "Yes. And they'll be about it any moment – just as soon as they start to hit the ground, I suspect. Oh, not all of them. But enough. Enough to get things started."

Ian shook his head. "I can't think of any of them who are ready to fight just yet."

Alvin smiled a little. "Really? Can't you? None of you?" He looked from one to another. Were they really _that_ naive? He hadn't been interacting as closely with the contestants, and he could think of at least a handful of candidates who might be willing to get things rolling. At last, Maria nodded reluctantly.

"I can."

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

He could do this.

Ky took a deep breath as he clutched the strap that would release his parachute. Most of the other had already pulled theirs, but he could wait a little longer. A little closer. Closer. He could see the island now, clear in the rising sun. Finally, he pulled his strap, and felt a tug as his parachute opened. Then he was drifting. Drifting slowly down towards the island. Closer. Closer. A few of the others had waited, as well, and were drifting a short distance away from him. Higher up, the sky was full of parachutes. He didn't have time to count, but at least no one appeared to have pulled theirs too late and ended up flattened somewhere on the island.

 _That's not a good thing._ Ky clutched the straps that held his parachute as he drifted lower and lower. Sure, pancaking on the island wasn't a fate he would wish on anyone, but it would have been a convenient end for one or two of the more powerful contestants. And it would have been quick. But that wasn't what the MAAB had wanted. Hell, maybe they'd even had a way to trigger the parachutes remotely if someone had come a little too close to crashing.

Or maybe not. Maybe they didn't particularly care _how_ the contestants died. If they'd _all_ crashed, of course – or at least a significant number – that would have posed a problem, of course. But one or two? What difference would that make?

Ky braced himself as his feet hit the ground and his collar softly clicked off. Right now, one or two could make a huge difference. He quickly tugged the second cord, releasing the parachute from his backpack, tendrils of darkness already swirling around his hands. One or two. All he had to do was hit one or two. They were small targets – the parachutes drifting down slowly in the morning breeze. He would have to get lucky. But there was no harm in trying.

No harm for _him_ , at least. But he couldn't let himself think about that. Couldn't allow himself to imagine what would happen to them if he did manage to destroy a parachute or two. _Don't think about it. Don't think._ Ky clenched his fists and took aim.

His first shot went wild. His second grazed the edge of a parachute. They were getting closer. Closer. _Focus._ The shadows swirled around his hands. Ky took a deep breath, aimed again, and sent a tendril of smoke towards one of the lower parachutes. He could hear a scream as the darkness tore through the fabric, and the contestant dropped swiftly to the ground. He didn't hear a crash. Had they survived? They were too far away for him to tell. If he had killed someone already…

Then he was already a contender. Already a player in their little game. His next shot tore through another parachute – this one from a bit higher up, and a bit farther away. Then another, tearing through a third parachute. But just as he was preparing to loose another tendril, something stopped him. "Stop it!" a voice commanded, and his body froze. A girl was racing towards him, her hands extended, holding him in place. A boy was right behind her, and behind them—

Behind them was a bear. Ky clenched his teeth. _Idiots._ With a ferocious growl, the bear leapt towards the girl. The girl, startled, took off running as fast as she could, with the boy right behind – all thought of Ky forgotten. Ky quickly shook his limbs, relieved the bear had decided to ignore him, and sprinted in the other direction. The other contestants were starting to land. He couldn't spare any more time – not until he'd found somewhere safe.

Safe. Most likely, there was no place on the island that was safe. The ground was covered in moss, and he could see some small shrubs, but there didn't appear to be any real shelter. _Just get away from the others_. That would be good enough for now. Then he could worry about his next move.

For now, he'd done all he could.

* * *

 **Diana Pierri, 17**

There was nothing she could do.

Diana screamed as the tendril of darkness swirled towards her. The boy had been missing – although his last shot had grazed a parachute a little ways away – but this time, his aim was better. There was a sudden jolt as the darkness tore through her parachute, and everything began to spin. Beside her – no, above her now – she heard a scream, and she could see Piper's outstretched hand … but not close enough. Piper wasn't close enough to do anything but watch helplessly as she tumbled towards the ground.

It was only a matter of seconds. Diana squeezed her eyes shut as she hit the ground hard, landing on her side with a crack. Tears stung her eyes. She didn't even have the strength to scream. But maybe that was for the best. If she started screaming, that would just make it easier for people to find her. Piper and Akil would be looking for her – surely they wouldn't just abandon her – but the others … no, she didn't want anyone else to find her. Diana clenched her fists tightly and opened her eyes.

Immediately, she wished she hadn't. There was blood trickling down her face; everything was growing blurry. But the worst pain was in her side, where there didn't seem to be any blood. _Internal bleeding_. She remembered hearing the phrase somewhere before – on tv, maybe – but couldn't remember what she was supposed to do. Or even _if_ there was anything she could do. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She wasn't sure how much longer…

"Akil! Over here!" Piper's voice. Diana couldn't even muster the strength to turn towards the sound, but, soon, her friends came into view. Piper inhaled sharply when she saw what had happened. "Diana. Diana, can you hear me?"

 _Barely._ Diana finally managed a weak nod as Piper and Akil approached. Piper quickly pulled the cord on Diana's backpacking, releasing her from what remained of her charred parachute. "Akil, help me carry her."

Akil hesitated. "Where?"

Piper stopped short. Clearly, she hadn't thought of that. "Anywhere. Most of the others landed that way." She pointed off to her left. "So … the other way. Away from here." Away from the blood. But if they brought her with them…

Diana could feel tears stinging her eyes again. She knew what Akil was thinking. They would move faster if it was just two of them. She should tell them to go. To leave her. Diana opened her mouth, but no words came out. Now that it came to it, she didn't want them to leave her. If they left her, she would die.

And she didn't want to die.

"Okay," Akil agreed at last. "Give me a hand." He slid an arm beneath Diana's shoulder, lifting as gently as he could. But pain shot through her chest, and she couldn't help a scream. "Shhh," Akil hissed, but he clearly knew that was useless. Everything was getting blurry. Diana closed her eyes. Her chest hurt. Her legs hurt. Her head ached.

"Go to sleep." Akil's voice was suddenly gentle. Everything was getting warm. Something fuzzy wrapped around her. A blanket? Maybe. She didn't dare open her eyes again, in case it was just an illusion. "Sleep," Akil repeated. "Just sleep for a while."

 _For a while._ Okay. Maybe she could do that. Maybe she could sleep. Maybe that would be better. She could still feel Akil's arms lifting her, but only distantly – as if already in a dream. Nothing seemed to matter quite so much now.

Maybe she would still dream…

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

It still didn't quite seem real.

Isadore stared, helpless, as a girl maybe a hundred yards away from him tumbled out of the sky, her parachute ripped nearly in half. Isadore clutched the straps of his parachute tightly. This couldn't be happening. The people in charge – they wouldn't just let the boy shoot them all down out of the sky.

Would they?

"Isadore!" called Cassidy, who was drifting beside him. "Grab my hand! Then if he hits one of us—"

She didn't have to finish that thought. Immediately, he grabbed her hands – and not a moment too soon, because the next tendril hit his own parachute. There was a sudden jolt, and then he was dangling by his arms, struggling to hold on, just as Cassidy was struggling to hold him. But she didn't need to hold him forever. Just a little longer…

The ground drew closer. Closer. There were only a few feet left when Cassidy's grip finally slipped, and both of them crashed to the ground. Cassidy scrambled to her feet immediately. "Are you all right? I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold on any—"

"I'm fine," Isadore interrupted, getting up slowly and releasing his parachute from his backpack. "Just a bit winded. You?"

"Fine," Cassidy nodded, glancing up at the sky. Already looking for the others. Waving her arms a little, hoping to attract their attention – but also hoping not to attract anyone else's. Already thinking about survival. Already ignoring the fact that he'd almost fallen to his death.

Almost. He hadn't – and that was what mattered. She'd saved his life. But it could just as easily have been the other way around. If their positions had been reversed – if she had been hit instead of him – he would have done the same. Any of them would have.

Isadore held up his hand, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun as they scoured the sky for their friends. They spotted Ben first, slowly drifting towards them. Juliska and Natasha were a bit farther away, but seemed to be drifting safely down. "Let's head that way," Ben suggested once he landed, pointing in the direction Natasha and Juliska had drifted. "Looked like the water was closer that way, anyway."

Water. That was good. But was he thinking about survival, or was he already considering being able to use the water to their advantage in a fight? Isadore nodded, but his heart was racing. He could have died. He almost _had._ And the others wanted to move on as if nothing had just happened. What about the girl who had been hit? Was she alive? Or had someone already died?

Everything suddenly seemed so real.

"Wait," Cassidy called just as Ben turned to go. "Maybe we should keep the parachutes." She nodded towards the three discarded parachutes.

Isadore nodded. Sure, his was useless now, but the other two were still intact. They couldn't fly, but maybe they could make some sort of shelter out of them. "Good idea," he agreed.

Ben nodded his agreement. "All right, but quickly." The three of them hurriedly folded the parachutes and stuffed them in their backpacks. "Now let's find the rest of the group."

The rest of the group. Isadore smiled a little as they set out. Maybe he'd had a little bit of a bumpy start – quite literally – but he was still alive. His friends were still alive. For the moment, that was enough. He smiled at Cassidy as Ben led the way towards the shore. "Thanks – for having my back up there."

Cassidy nodded back. "You would've done the same thing."

That was certainly true. But it was also frightening. Because as much as they might want to keep each other alive now – as much as working as a group might help them this early on – eventually, one of them was going to have to die. And now, having come so close, he was more certain than ever.

He didn't want it to be him.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098**

She was just glad it wasn't her.

Penelope could do little more than gasp as Rachel tumbled past her out of the sky, plummeting towards the water below. Penelope was almost to the ground, but Rachel had fallen farther. Pulled her parachute sooner. She'd been an easy target. Now…

Still a few feet above the ground, Penelope pulled the second strap, releasing her parachute from her backpack and rushing in the direction Rachel had fallen. Every second mattered now, if Rachel was still alive. If she was dead…

If she was dead, then it didn't matter – didn't matter how fast she ran, or how quickly Monet was able to land and help her. "Rachel!" Penelope called as loudly as she dared, but she heard nothing in reply. Nothing except the sound of the waves crashing along the cliffs up ahead. Penelope stopped short at the edge of the cliff, staring down into the waves. "Rachel!"

It was too late. Part of her knew that already. But she leapt, nonetheless, easily absorbing the impact of the landing now that her collar was off. She landed at Rachel's side, but the older girl's body was limp, blood pooling in the shallow water around her. Most of the blood was gushing from the back of her head, which had hit a rock, but the rest of her had fared little better. She'd landed on her right arm, which was completely buried beneath her body, but her right leg was bent out at an awkward angle. Her eyes were closed. She didn't seem to be breathing.

Penelope carefully rolled her body over. Maybe she wasn't breathing, but that didn't mean it was hopeless. Maybe… She took a deep breath and focused. It had to be just the right amount of energy. She'd absorbed plenty from the landing, of course, but if she used too much, she could blow Rachel's body to pieces instead of starting her heart again. _Okay. Breathe._ She laid her hands gently on Rachel's chest and focused. She'd never tried this before. All of her training had been focused on how to fight. How to kill. Never on how to save a life…

It was a quick jolt – a sudden burst of energy that coursed through Rachel's body. Penelope took a deep breath, relieved that nothing had blown up. But it didn't seem to have done any good, either. She shook her head, collected her wits, and tried again – with a slightly stronger jolt. Then a little stronger. Nothing. Nothing was working. It wasn't good enough. _She_ wasn't good enough. If she just tried hard enough, she should be able to…

"Penelope?" Monet's voice cut through her thoughts. "Penelope!"

Penelope turned, startled. "I was just trying to—"

Monet nodded. "I know. I know. I saw. There's nothing you could have done. Nothing you _can_ do. But we have to get moving. We can't stay here – not for long."

Penelope stared. Monet was right, of course. But she hadn't expected them to be the one to realize it. To recognize that it would be better if they kept moving – or, at the very least, got away from the shore and the freezing waves. Penelope nodded. "Okay. Okay, let's get back up the cliff."

Monet shook their head. "Easier said than done. I landed down here. How'd you get down without…?" They trailed off, their eyes still fixed on Rachel's body. _Without something like that happening to you._ That's what they'd been about to say.

Penelope took a step away from the body. "Come here – and hold on tight."

"To what?"

"To me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Jump. If I channel enough energy, I'll be able to get us both to safety."

Monet hesitated. "What about Rachel?"

"She'd dead."

"But the body … shouldn't we … I don't know … make sure it gets back up there? So they can get it back to her family?"

Penelope hesitated. She hadn't thought about that. _Wouldn't_ have thought about that. Not because she didn't care, but because _she_ wouldn't have anyone to send her body back to, if she died in the Games. But that didn't mean Rachel's family shouldn't be able to say goodbye. Penelope nodded, and, together, she and Monet lifted their friend's body.

"Hold on."

* * *

 **Ryden O' Lore, 17**

How much longer could he and Clara hold out?

Ryden gasped for breath as the pair of them raced across the mossy ground, trying desperately to stay one step ahead of the bear. Ahead of _John_ , Ryden reminded himself. The mutant chasing them was a person – just like them. Just like them, of course, aside from the fact that he seemed intent on killing them.

No. Not on killing both of them. Just Clara. She'd warned them, when they'd decided to work together, that John might decide to target her because of what he perceived as her betrayal. Because of her refusal to help him try to escape. But Ryden had never imagined he would try to act so soon. They'd barely landed on the island before he'd transformed into a bear and come sprinting after them. Maybe he should have expected that, but he'd hoped that no one would be quite so eager to start a fight.

Then again, Ky hadn't hesitated, either, before shooting down several of the other contestants. And if Clara hadn't been distracted trying to stop him, perhaps they would have been able to get away from John sooner – or at least get more of a head start. As it was, he was gaining on them quickly. It was only a matter of time before…

Maybe they should turn and fight, instead. But why? Why should he want to fight John? Whatever was going on, it was between the two of them – Clara and John. Why should he risk his life to fight her battles? Sure, they were working together, but that didn't mean he wanted to sacrifice himself – or even risk getting hurt – to step in and fight in her place.

Ryden quickly glanced back at the grizzly bear, roaring closer and closer each second. He didn't even know where Parker was. Maybe she'd had the sense to stay away – to try to land somewhere else. Maybe she hadn't meant to. Either way, he wished he could trade places with her. Wished he could be anywhere else.

But he _could_ be. Ryden clenched his fists. There was nothing stopping him from leaving. If he veered off even a little to one side or the other, he could separate himself from Clara. She wouldn't have time to catch up, and John – surely John would choose to go after her. He had no reason to keep chasing Ryden, if Clara wasn't with him. Ryden glanced over at Clara. Surely that was what she would do in his position. She wouldn't really risk her life to try to help _him_ , would she?

No. No, neither of them would. Because, in the end, they couldn't. If he was going to get out of this alive, he would have to leave Clara sooner or later. He hadn't expected it to be quite this soon, but he wasn't about to get himself killed waiting for a better time. As quietly as he could, Ryden veered off to the left a little. Clara, too focused on outrunning John, didn't even notice until he was a good twenty or thirty feet away. Too late to do anything about it.

But the bear kept coming.

Ryden's heart beat even faster as he realized – the bear was still coming towards _him_. _Shit_. What was he supposed to do now? He'd put enough distance between himself and Clara that, even if she tried to help, she wouldn't reach him in time to do anything. And what would she be able to do, anyway? She'd mentioned during training that she didn't have much control over John while he was in bear form. She'd been able to hold him still for a few seconds, maybe, when he'd tried to attack Jayden, but only because he hadn't been expecting it. She'd caught him off-guard. That wouldn't happen again.

Sure enough, Clara kept running. Ryden clenched his fists. He couldn't really blame her for that; he'd been trying to do the same thing, after all. Trying to get away from the fight, even at the cost of losing one of his partners. But he wasn't lost. Not yet. Not unless the bear could eat through metal. Ryden reached up, his skin turning to metal almost immediately as his fingers brushed against his collar.

John probably wasn't expecting _that_.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

She hadn't been expecting _that._

Victoria watched from a safe distance as John collided with Ryden, whose skin now seemed to be made of metal. Maybe she should have expected that – or, at least, expected _something_. But, for the most part, they'd had no way of knowing what each other's powers were. The only reason the others knew it was John who could transform into a bear was because he'd been stupid enough to do so out in the open during training. Ryden hadn't.

But neither had she. And she had no intention of giving away her secret anytime soon. Even John only knew as much as she'd told him – and that hadn't been much. She'd hinted that it had something to do with persuasion, but she'd managed not to reveal that, once under her influence, the other person had no choice but to do as she said.

And he had no idea he was acting under her orders.

She could have told him to go after Clara, of course. That would have been the obvious choice. But that would only have been a short-term goal. Once Clara was dead – assuming he managed to kill her, of course – then what? How would she be able to justify going after anyone else? There would be no reason for him to fight Ryden, or Parker, or whoever else Clara might team up with, if she was dead.

But if she was still alive – if he just _kept_ missing her – then he could carry on his vendetta indefinitely, with the other contestants just happening to be unfortunate enough to come between him and his prey. It was a good plan.

Or, at least, it _would_ have been a good plan if she hadn't set him loose on someone whose power seemed to be that he could turn into metal. Or maybe … maybe that was only because he was holding onto his collar. Maybe. If she could get him to let go…

But would she be able to do that in time? After all, in order to use her power, she had to be able to touch him – and she needed eye contact. Even if she managed both of those things, she had no way of knowing whether Ryden's power would have any effect on hers – whether his skin would make it harder to maintain the physical contact necessary for her to push him to stop. No. No, it was safer to watch from a distance. No point in getting any closer when, by the time she reached them, there might not even be anything she could do.

John staggered back, startled by the blow. But he didn't run away. Because that wasn't what she'd told him to do. That didn't surprise her. What _did_ surprise her was that the other boy didn't run away, either. He stood his ground as John charged again, this time managing to latch his jaws around Ryden's wrist – the wrist that was holding onto his collar.

Ryden's other fist came down, striking John's head, but John held on, his jaws clamped firmly Ryden's arm, trying to yank it away from his collar. But it wasn't enough. Ryden's fist connected with the bear's head again. Victoria could see the blood from where she stood, but she could also see something else – her chance.

As quietly as she could, she kept closer. All John had to do was hold on – just a little longer. Closer. Closer. She wasn't sure whether John saw her or not, but he was certainly doing an excellent job of distracting Ryden. Silently, Victoria removed her jacket. Once she was close enough, she flung it over Ryden's head.

It wasn't much. But it was the distraction she needed. Startled and blinded, Ryden let go of his collar long enough to fling the jacket away from his face. In that moment, his skin turned back to flesh, and John's teeth sank in deeper. Blood gushed from his wrist as he reached for his collar with his other hand, desperate to change back. But Victoria was faster. She grabbed his wrist, and Ryden spun around, startled, looking her right in the eye.

 _Perfect._

"Relax," was all she said. All she needed to say. Ryden immediately went limp, his expression perfectly calm as John sank his teeth into his neck. It was over in seconds. John staggered backwards, away from the body, his teeth still red with Ryden's blood as he returned to human form, but his own injuries gone. Victoria smiled, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

"We did it."

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

"We did it."

Simon breathed a sigh of relief as Reese landed safely beside him and Rory. There were still a few other contestants in the air, but they appeared to be drifting farther north. As far as he could hear – which was pretty far – there wasn't anyone else nearby.

They were on their own.

"All right, then," Reese whispered. "What do we do now?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Why are you whispering? There's no one else for at least a mile – maybe more."

"No people," Reese explained, still whispering. "I'm sure they have cameras hidden around here, though. They're taping everything, remember."

Rory shrugged. "If that's true, their cameras are probably good enough to pick up your whispering. Besides, it's not like we've got anything to hide."

Reese shook his head, pulling the strap to disconnect his parachute from his backpack. "We should figure out what we _do_ have – if they put any supplies in our packs."

"They said they did," Simon shrugged.

"That's what they _said_ ," Reese pointed out. "They also told us not to open them. Why?"

"Probably so we wouldn't start fighting over who got what," Rory offered, swinging his backpack off his shoulders. "What do you _think_ they put in here? A bomb?"

"Probably not," Reese conceded. "They want us to kill _each other_. Blowing us all to bits would be a bit counterproductive. But I wouldn't be surprised if there are microphones in there, too. Or in our collars."

Simon hesitated. That was something he hadn't thought of – the possibility that their collars might be bugged. But even if they were, what difference did it make? And what could they do about it? Sure, Rory had figured out a way to take his off, but that didn't help the rest of them.

"Well, at least they weren't lying about the supplies," Rory grinned as he opened his bag and removed a sandwich bag full of dried apples, a folded rain poncho, and a small pocketknife. "Not bad. Let's see what you guys got."

Simon quickly removed his own backpack and opened it to find a bottle of orange juice, a pair of socks, and a folded piece of paper. Rory hurried over, eyeing the piece of paper. "What's that?"

Simon unfolded it. "It's a map. Of the island, I guess. That's pretty much what it looked like from above."

Rory grinned. "Neat. Looks like there are a few lakes. That means we can find fresh water. Not that orange juice isn't good." He turned to Reese. "Come on, open yours."

Reese finally opened his own backpack – a bit hesitantly, as if he still expected it to explode. But it didn't. Instead of a bomb, there was a package of crackers, a pair of sunglasses, and a large roll of gauze. "And three parachutes," Reese added, quickly folding his up. "Maybe we can make some sort of shelter, or at least use them as protection if it starts to rain."

"Or snow," Rory pointed out. "It's pretty chilly."

It was. But not as bad as it had been before. Or maybe they were simply getting used to it. Either way, it was likely to be worse at night. "We should see if we can find some sort of protection," Reese suggested. "Somewhere where we'll be a bit more hidden."

Hidden. Right. That was what they were supposed to be doing. They couldn't just focus on finding food and water. They had to make sure the others didn't find _them_.

But even that wasn't what they were _supposed_ to be doing. There was a reason whoever had been in charge of stuffing their backpacks had put a knife in Rory's. Maybe their powers weren't particularly dangerous, but the fact that they'd given Rory a weapon meant something. It meant that they would still be expected to fight. What good a knife would do against some of the other contestants' powers, he wasn't sure, but it was better than nothing.

And maybe it would be enough.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

The fact that they were together was enough for now.

Tariq quickly helped Cameron to his feet after the pair of them landed. He couldn't see anyone else in the sky, which probably meant they were the last to land. They'd been the last to jump, of course, and had released their parachutes almost immediately. But that didn't matter now that they'd made it to the ground safely. Ian was right; it wasn't a race. What mattered was that they were still alive.

"Wow," Cameron whispered, staring out at the water.

Tariq looked where he was gazing. "What?"

"The water. When we jumped, I was trying not to look, but … wow."

Tariq smiled. "You've never seen the ocean before, have you."

Cameron shook his head. "I live in the middle of Texas. Well, _lived_ in. I don't know if they'll let me go back there if…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. _If I survive this_.

Tariq wrapped an arm around Cameron's shoulders. "Come on. Let's see what's in these packs."

It didn't take them long to sort through their supplies. Along with their parachutes – which were a good supply of fabric, if nothing else – his own bag held four strips of beef jerky, a scarf, and a roll of gauze. Cameron's contained a bag of peanuts, a pair of gloves, and a map. Tariq grinned when he saw the map. "Perfect."

Cameron shook his head. "But we don't even know where we are."

"Of course we do." He pointed out across the water. "See that?"

"What?"

"Out in the distance – right there." He gently turned Cameron in the right direction. "What do you see?"

"It looks like another island. Alvin said—"

"Said not to try to go there," Tariq finished. "We're not going to. But we can use that to navigate. If that's this island here," he continued, pointing at the map, "that means we're right _here_. Which means there's what looks like a lake maybe a mile or two in that direction." He turned around, pointing away from the shore. "That means fresh water – and any animals on the island are likely to be there, too."

"And the other contestants," Cameron pointed out. "If they realize there's water there, isn't that where they'll go, too?"

"Maybe," Tariq conceded. "Or maybe not. We don't know how many people got maps. They said the supplies were distributed randomly. And there are other lakes farther south. They might head for one of those, instead."

"And if we get to the lake and someone's already there, we can always turn around and come back," Cameron offered hopefully.

Tariq nodded. He hoped that was true. Hoped that no one would be particularly eager to attack them yet. "Sounds like a plan," he nodded, folding up his parachute and stuffing it in his bag along with the other supplies, except the scarf, which he wrapped around his neck. Cameron had already put on his gloves, and both had wrapped their bandannas around their heads. Cameron smiled.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

"I think we can stop now."

Hadley turned, startled, to see that Rosalind was lagging pretty far behind him. He'd almost forgotten that she was there. As soon as the pair of them had landed, he'd taken off immediately, racing away from the direction most of the others had landed. He hadn't wanted to stop. He still didn't. With his powers back, he felt like he could keep going forever.

But Rosalind couldn't. Reluctantly, Hadley slowed down, the ground beneath his feet returning to a more solid state. "Thanks," Rosalind panted as he let her catch up. "I think we lost them."

Hadley nodded. He doubted anyone had been chasing them in the first place. It had just felt so good to be able to run again, to be able to stretch and use his powers without having to worry that someone might turn his collar back on. They still could, of course, but now that they were in the arena, that didn't seem as likely.

The arena. He'd been picturing something a bit more … confining. Not that this was bad – just not quite what he'd been expecting. He'd imagined some sort of buildings, maybe. Perhaps a stadium or a field or something a bit more organized. This just seemed like a regular island.

Maybe that was the point – to take something perfectly ordinary and turn it into something terrifying. But as strange as it felt, he wasn't frightened. Not anymore. For now, he and Rosalind were safe. The others were too far away to do any harm. And his own powers were under control – as much as they could be.

Hadley quickly swung his backpack off his back. If Rosalind needed to rest for a moment, they might as well make good use of their time and see if there were, in fact, supplies in their packs. Rosalind took the hint and did the same.

His backpack contained a package of granola bars, an extra jacket, and a small box of matches. Hers contained a small bag of chocolate chip cookies, an extra shirt, and a watch. She quickly slipped the watch on and stuffed everything else back in her pack. "Better keep the extra clothes dry – just in case."

Hadley clapped her on the back. She was already thinking about survival. Sure, it was tempting to put on all the clothes they had now, but if they got wet from water or snow or even just from sweat, then all the clothes they had would be soaked. This way, at least they would have _something_ that was dry. Hadley smiled. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?"

Hadley hesitated. A reasonable question. "Away from the others," he answered vaguely, indicating the direction he'd been running. "As far away as we can get."

Rosalind nodded. Maybe that wasn't as specific an answer as she'd been hoping for, but if she had a better idea, she didn't voice it. "Okay," she agreed, shouldering her backpack.

"Lead the way."

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

"Which way?"

Taylor glanced around as she and Terry slowed to a stop. They'd landed next to a small stream and had been following it, hoping to find some larger body of water, but now the stream had split up into three separate branches, each about the same size. Taylor shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I guess. I don't think anyone else is nearby."

Terry shook his head. "Don't sound so disappointed."

Taylor managed a smile. He had a point. If there was no one nearby, that meant no one was going to attack them. For the moment, they were as safe as they could hope to be. But she still couldn't quite shake the feeling that this had been too simple. That the MAAB couldn't possibly have meant for them to spread out this far.

Taylor swung her bag off her shoulders. That wasn't her problem. If they hadn't wanted the contestants to spread out, they shouldn't have dumped them on such a large island. As it was, the more distance she and Terry could put between themselves and the other contestants, the better. "Let's see what we've got before we keep moving," she suggested. They'd already stuffed their parachutes back in their bags, but hadn't taken the time to see what else might be inside.

At first glance, it wasn't anything particularly exciting. Between the pair of them, they had a bottle of juice, four sticks of beef jerky, an extra shirt and pair of pants, a roll of cord, and a small headlamp. "Not bad," Taylor remarked as they repacked their bags.

Terry shrugged. "Could be worse. Not quite what I was expecting."

Taylor nodded. "I was expecting more food, too. But I guess some of this stuff must be edible." She gestured towards the moss that was growing on most of the rocks. "And there's water here, once we run out of juice. It'd be better if we could find a way to boil it, but it's better than nothing. It's probably not very contaminated."

To Taylor's relief, Terry nodded along, not bothering to call her out on the fact that she had no idea what she was talking about. Surviving on moss and stream water was a long way from surviving on the streets of New Orleans. "Let's keep moving, then," Taylor suggested. "We came from that way, right?" All the rocks and the moss on them looked pretty much the same. She was used to navigating, yes, but she was also used to having _landmarks_. Here, there was nothing – a _lot_ of nothing.

Terry chuckled a little. "That way," he corrected, pointing in almost the opposite direction.

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Yep. The sun's rising – that makes that way east. We were heading west. Unless you want to head back _towards_ the others…"

Taylor shook her head. "No thanks. Lead the way, Sherlock."

Terry rolled his eyes. "City girl."

"Country boy."

"Present."

Taylor swung her backpack over her shoulders and followed Terry down the stream. Maybe teaming up with him was an even better idea than she'd originally thought. If the rest of the arena was going to look like this – flat and rocky and almost completely barren – then maybe a kid from Kansas was the perfect choice for a partner.

She just hoped there would be something for her to do.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

There really didn't seem to be much to do yet.

Cyrene shook her head as she made her way across the barren, rocky landscape. Aside from a few bugs, she hadn't seen any signs of life since the last of the parachutes had landed – and that had been quite a ways away. No one else seemed to be nearby. And while that was certainly a good thing – it meant that no one was going to attack her any time soon – it was also a bit … well, almost disappointing.

No. No, that was silly. Sure, the morning so far hadn't been as nerve-wracking as she'd anticipated, but that was a good thing. Wasn't it? She was still alive, after all. That was all that mattered. Still, she couldn't help the feeling that this was a little too simple. A little too easy.

 _Stop it._ Cyrene shook her head as she stopped for a rest, settling down onto a patch of moss. Easy was good. Easy meant she had managed to avoid a fight so far. She didn't even have to worry about finding her partners, like most of the others would. Her clones were only a thought away.

So why hadn't she summoned them?

Cyrene hesitated. She'd never been particularly reluctant to summon her clones before – especially when no one was watching. But people _were_ watching. There were probably cameras somewhere nearby, even if she couldn't see them. The MAAB was planning to air the Games, after all. Which meant they were recording them. Recording _her_.

But why did that matter? They _wanted_ the contestants to use their powers, after all. Cyrene focused, and, almost immediately, Tira appeared, yawning a little and stretching her arms. "What _time_ is it?" her tiredness-clone asked groggily. "Shouldn't we find somewhere to rest?"

Cyrene smiled a little. "Right idea," she admitted. "We _do_ need to find somewhere to stay. But not here. Not out in the open." But, looking around, she didn't really see anywhere that _wasn't_ out in the open. There were a few hills in the distance, but even they didn't seem particularly tall. There were no trees, no buildings, nothing that might offer any sort of shelter.

And maybe that was the idea. Sure, the island was large enough for the thirty of them to spread out, but it was only a matter of time before they found each other when they could see so far in any direction. Maybe that was the real reason she'd been hesitant to summon any clones. More people meant more of a chance of being spotted.

But, for now, the two of them were probably safe. Cyrene opened her backpack, and Tira sat down next to her, watching eagerly. "What'd you get?"

"I don't know." She reached in, pulling out the parachute she'd stuffed back in the pack earlier. Beneath it was a package of fig bars, an extra pair of socks, and a whistle. "Great," Cyrene muttered, stuffing everything except the fig bars back in her pack. "Just great."

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but only the fig bars seemed particularly useful. She shook her head as she ate one, putting the rest back in the pack to save for later. An extra pair of socks might be useful if the pair she was wearing happened to get wet, but not as useful as an extra jacket or pair of pants might have been. What were the chances that only her socks were going to get wet? And what was she supposed to do with a whistle?

"Hey, it could always be worse," Tira offered cheerily. "We're still alive."

That much was true. She'd landed safely. She hadn't been shot down out of the sky by the boy who had been hurling shadows at some of the other contestants. She hadn't landed in the water, where she could easily have frozen to death. She had landed safely, and she was still alive.

That had to count for something.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

All three of them had made it; that had to count for something.

Jayden glanced around nervously as the three of them – her, Verona, and Austin – released their parachutes from their packs and began to fold them. They could take their time. As far as she could tell, no one else had landed nearby. No one but the three of them.

But they weren't alone. As soon as her feet had hit the ground, she'd begun picking up thoughts. Startled, frightened animals, alarmed by the sudden intrusion on their peaceful island. Jayden glanced around. She couldn't see any animals, but she could feel them. _It's okay. We're not here to hurt you._

That much was true, at least. None of them had come here to hurt the animals. Even the MAAB didn't want that – but they probably didn't particularly care if an animal or two got hurt in the process of their little game. Slowly, a shape crept out of the shrubbery. Austin leapt back, startled, but Verona took a step closer. "Wow. Did you just … summon a fox?"

Jayden shook her head. "She was already here. I just … told her it was safe to come out."

Verona grinned. "She's beautiful."

She was right; the fox's fur was a pure white, a bit fluffier than Hiro's. She was smaller, too – maybe a foot and a half long. She kept a careful distance, staring up at the trio with wide brown eyes. Jayden smiled, taking a step closer. Than another. The fox didn't budge. Silently, she sniffed the air. _We need to find somewhere safe._ Safe. But what would safe mean to a fox? Were there other predators on the island? Anything that would pose a threat to the fox?

Anything besides the contestants?

The fox quickly sniffed the air one more time, then padded off away from the group. "She wants us to follow her," Jayden reported.

Verona shrugged. "Why not?" Austin quickly nodded his agreement, and the three of them hurried after the fox, whose tail kept bobbing up and down amid the moss and light shrubbery. "Where's she leading us?" Verona asked.

"I don't know," Jayden admitted. "I told her we needed to find somewhere safe, so maybe—"

"Water," Austin interrupted.

"Maybe," Jayden agreed. "That would make sense."

"No, I mean _water_! Look!" Austin sprinted quickly ahead, waited a few seconds, then sprinted again. Jayden smiled. Maybe his powers would make him a good lookout. If there was any trouble up ahead, he'd be the first to see it.

But there didn't seem to be any danger – just a small lake. The three of them knelt down by the shore, drinking their fill as the fox sat beside them, her head raised proudly. Jayden reached out her hand, and the fox padded closer. Closer. Her hand brushed against the fox's thick, soft fur. _Thank you._

Safe for the moment, the three of them quickly unpacked their backpacks. Verona's contained a small package of peanuts, an extra jacket, and a whistle. Austin found a bag of raisins, a pair of gloves, and a thin, folded-up blanket. Her own backpack held a water bottle, a hat, and a folded tarp. Jayden quickly put the hat on and hung the whistle around her neck. The water bottle seemed a bit redundant now that they'd found an entire lake, but if they needed to leave for a while, it could come in handy.

Verona and Austin passed their peanuts and raisins around. "Tell her thank you for us," Verona whispered, as if trying not to frighten the fox away.

Jayden stroked the fox's fur gently. "She says _you're welcome_." That wasn't quite what the fox had said. It had been closer to 'Happy to help my lost little kits.' But 'you're welcome' seemed close enough.

Maybe this wasn't all that bad.

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

It was all his fault.

Ian shook his head as the screens replayed the first few minutes again and again. Upon landing, the three of them had immediately been escorted to a room with a table, several chairs, a couch, and an assortment of television screens. He hadn't seen anyone else besides Alvin, who had joined them a few minutes ago, but he had no doubt that the rest of the MAAB was nearby, watching the same events unfold.

It hadn't taken long for things to get started. Diana's parachute was hit. Then Isadore's. Then Rachel's. "I told them not to worry about how long it took to get to the ground," he muttered. "I told them it wasn't a race. I thought…"

Vincent shook his head. "We all did. We thought they'd all be able to get to the ground safely, at least. I figured Ky would be willing to fight, but I didn't imagine he'd shoot them out of the air like that."

Ian turned to Maria. "Did you know he was planning that?"

Maria shook her head. "How could I? None of us even knew there would _be_ parachutes until just before the Games. He didn't plan it. He couldn't have."

"No. He just saw an opportunity and he took it," Alvin interrupted. "He did what he was supposed to. He's playing the Game."

Ian nodded. He wasn't the only one. John had killed. Victoria had helped him. Ryden had been willing to fight. "It didn't take long, did it."

"No," Alvin agreed. "No, it didn't."

"What about the bodies?" Maria asked quietly.

"We'll send a helicopter team to retrieve them near the end of each day," Alvin explained. "I'd send them in now, but…"

"But there might be more bodies today," Vincent finished.

"Maybe," Alvin nodded.

Ian turned away from the screens. There had been enough death already. Rachel. Ryden. Diana was injured. That was more than enough.

Vincent shook his head. "There's nothing we can do, is there."

"No. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Believe it or not, yes. See, I'm the other one."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "The other one?"

Alvin chuckled a little. "Did you think no one would notice – that little conversation you were having with Francine? Nicholas caught it on tape. Oh, sure, no one could hear what you said, but it didn't take him long to figure out what she probably told you."

"But then why—" Vincent started.

"Because it _doesn't matter_." Alvin took a seat at the table, adjusting the bandage around his eye. "Whatever you're doing – whatever you're _thinking_ of doing – we're already three steps ahead of you. Yes, Francine voted against the Games. Hell, _I_ voted against the Games. Why am I telling you that? Because I _can_! They're already in the arena! What are you going to do about it? What am _I_ going to do about it?"

Ian glared. "Nothing. You're not going to do a damn thing."

Alvin nodded. "That's right. And neither are you. Not because you don't want to, but because you _can't_. There's nothing to be done. And we all know it. Everything's already set in motion. They're already killing each other. So unless one of you suddenly gained the ability to turn back time, I'm afraid we're _all_ out of luck."

"All?" Maria asked.

"All. You. Us. Mutants. Humans. The Games will be a disaster for us all. I tried to tell them that, but … well, maybe it's what we deserve. If we're no better than this, then maybe we deserve the consequences."

Ian nodded towards the screen. " _They_ don't."

"No. No, they don't." Slowly, Alvin got to his feet and made his way to the door. "Can I get you anything? Breakfast? A drink? A book?"

Ian shook his head. "What'd you bring? _Lord of the Flies?_ "

Alvin nodded. "Point taken. No books. I'll get you some food."

Once he was gone, Vincent shook his head. "I thought it might be him."

Ian plopped down in a chair. "I was hoping it wasn't."

Maria turned, surprised. "Why?"

"Because he won't help us. He knows better. And Francine's in no condition to do anything for us, even if we could communicate with her. He's right. There's nothing we can do."

Vincent nodded reluctantly. _For now._

* * *

" _Peace was never an option."_


	20. Play the Part

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite alliance" poll if you haven't yet.

* * *

 **Play the Part**

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 36  
** **March 20th, 10:42 AKST**

This wasn't quite what he'd been expecting.

Mack drummed his fingers on the table as he and the rest of the MAAB watched the screens. Most of them, at least. Alvin had left to check up on the coaches, but the rest of them had gathered in a makeshift conference room. A table stood in the center, with plenty of chairs scattered around the room. But it was mostly screens. A surveillance room for every camera in the arena.

Most of them were functioning properly. Two were blank – the cords, Alvin suspected, had probably been chewed through by some of the island's indigenous voles. The picture from another was a bit fuzzy – a possible result of being too close to one of Penelope's energy bursts when she had leapt back up the cliff. Nothing to worry about, but it was those sort of glitches that he hadn't quite expected. They made it feel a bit more real. And a bit less under their control.

He hadn't expected that. They had a great deal of power, after all, over the contestants in the arena. But that power wasn't absolute. What else had they failed to take into account? What other surprises waited for them as the Games progressed?

It wouldn't matter. They would be ready. They had to be. Now that the Games had begun, this _had_ to work. Ky, John, Victoria – they'd all proven that they were willing to kill. Once the others started to realize that, they would begin to play. Clara and Parker, Penelope and Monet, Akil and Piper – any one of them might want revenge for their fallen friends.

Diana wasn't dead, of course – not yet. But it was only a matter of time. There was a roll of gauze in Akil's backpack, and they could use their clothes or possibly the material from the parachutes as bandages, but that wouldn't be enough to save her. It was only a matter of how long they would try, and how much of their own time and resources they would waste in the process.

As for the others, even those who hadn't personally been attacked had seen Ky shoot down three of the other contestants. They knew he, at least, was willing to fight. And that made him a target. He clearly knew that, and was doing his best to put some distance between himself and the other contestants. But he couldn't avoid them forever. Couldn't avoid a fight forever. Not if he wanted to go home.

Home. How many of them still believed that? That they would simply be allowed to go home at the end of the Games? That had never really been an option, of course. If they were sent back home, the truth would spread, and that was one thing they couldn't afford. Different solutions had been proposed, but they had finally reached an agreement they could all live with – including the survivor.

Now they just had to wait and see who it would be.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

They would just have to wait and see whether anyone was there.

Cameron glanced up at Tariq as the pair of them made their way in what they hoped was the direction of the lake on the map. Tariq seemed pretty certain, but his navigation hinged on the assumption that the map was accurate. A week ago, Cameron knew, he would never have questioned that assumption. Would never have questioned _anything_ that had been given to him by representatives of the government. Now…

Now, it seemed, he had done nothing _but_ question them for days. Everything he had once believed about the government – that the Mutant Registration Act had been intended to protect mutants, that the government simply wanted to channel their powers to help _everyone_ , that the only mutants who needed to fear the government were those who used their abilities to harm others – it was all a lie.

So the idea that the MAAB might have given them a fake map … well, that didn't seem quite as far-fetched as it might have before. Was Tariq worried about the same thing? Was that why he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to reach their destination? Then again, Tariq never seemed to be in much of a hurry to do _anything._ Maria had said that might help them conserve energy, which would probably be a good thing in the cold.

Besides, if there _was_ a lake, it wasn't going anywhere. Even if some other contestants found it in the meantime, they weren't likely to drink the whole lake. There was no reason to rush. Cameron reached down and plucked a mushroom from between some of the rocks. A little breakfast wouldn't hurt.

 _Couldn't_ hurt, in fact. Tariq chuckled a little as Cameron took a bite. "I don't suppose your power will tell you whether that would be safe for _me_ to eat."

"It doesn't work like that," Cameron admitted. "At least, not that I've noticed." His stomach seemed to respond the same way no matter _what_ he swallowed. That didn't mean the mushroom tasted good, of course. It was slimy and a bit sour. But it was food, and that was more than most of the other contestants could say with certainty. "Did you want some more nuts?" he offered, reaching for his backpack.

Tariq shook his head. "No, but thank you. We should probably save those for a … well, I suppose it would probably be a _snowy_ day."

Cameron smiled a little. "Maybe we should keep an eye out for shelter, just in case."

"I have been," Tariq agreed. "Everything seems rather … open. I suppose that's the plan. It will be harder for us to hide."

Cameron nodded. He was probably right. The MAAB didn't _want_ them to hide from each other. If they'd wanted that, they could have chosen an island with caves, or trees, or … something. Instead, aside from a few hills, there didn't seem to be any sort of cover. Which meant they could see pretty far, but it also meant the others would be able to see _them._

"Look!" Tariq whispered suddenly, pointing off to their right a little, but still quite a ways ahead of them. "Looks like the map was right about the lake."

Cameron looked where Tariq was pointing, and immediately took a few steps closer to his companion. Because while the map had been right about the lake, they had also been right to assume that other contestants might find it, as well. They weren't close enough for Cameron to tell who they were, but there were at least two. Maybe three.

What were they supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

What were they supposed to do now?

Monet glanced around as Penelope removed Rachel's backpack and opened it, revealing a sandwich bag of dried apples, a shirt, and a folded tarp. Then she carefully removed Rachel's bandanna, her gloves, and, last, her blood-stained jacket. Monet took a step back. "Are you sure we should…"

Penelope shook her head. "Don't you think she would want us to have them?"

Maybe. Maybe she would. But looting through their dead friend's supplies still felt wrong. As if they were intruding somehow. But intruding on whom? Rachel was dead. And it wasn't as if these were her prized possessions. They were just some supplies that had been given to her moments before her death. If those supplies could keep the pair of them alive a little longer, then Penelope was probably right. Rachel would want them to have them.

Monet looked away, quickly opening their own backpack, instead. Inside, they found a package of crackers, a hat, and a pocketknife. They quickly put the hat on and stuffed the rest back in the backpack, but they weren't quick enough. "I'd keep the knife out," Penelope advised. "It might come in handy, since your power is…"

She let that hang in the air, but Monet couldn't help but wonder how that sentence would have ended. Their power was … what? Useless? Harmless? Under normal circumstances, the idea that their power wasn't particularly threatening would have been a compliment. They'd never wanted to hurt anyone.

Everything was different now. They hadn't been close enough to the ground to see who, exactly, had shot Rachel down, but _someone_ had been perfectly willing to kill her – and would probably be just as willing to kill anyone else they might come across. It couldn't hurt to be prepared. Monet nodded silently, removed the pocketknife again, and slid it into their pocket. "What did you get?" Monet asked quickly, still not daring to look at Rachel's body, which lay behind them.

Penelope opened her own pack. Inside was a package of granola bars, a pair of socks, and a roll of cord. Penelope nodded. "Not bad."

Maybe. Maybe it wasn't bad. But even though Alvin had claimed the supplies had been distributed randomly, it didn't seem like a coincidence that they'd been given a weapon and Penelope hadn't. Penelope's power was dangerous enough as it was. Had the MAAB given them a weapon to even the playing field? Was it a reminder that they expected Monet to play their game just as much as they expected Penelope to?

Monet shook their head. It didn't matter what the MAAB wanted. Not anymore. Rachel was dead. It could just as easily have been either them or Penelope. They had jumped at the same time. Their parachutes had been so close to each other. It was simply luck that they were still alive, and Rachel…

Rachel wasn't. That was all there was to it. Monet swallowed hard and finally turned to look at their friend's body. Rachel was gone. She was dead. And they weren't. For now, that was all that mattered.

They were still alive.

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

They were still alive.

John shook his head, still staring at the body on the ground in front of him. The body of the boy whose blood still coated his teeth. John coughed, spitting out the blood, but the taste still remained. The bear might have been oblivious to the taste – might even have relished the hunt – but he wasn't a bear anymore. The bear's injuries were gone now, but the exhaustion from the fight remained. John sank to the ground, gasping for air. Air. That meant he was still alive.

They were both alive. Victoria had come to help him. He hadn't expected that. He wouldn't have guessed that she would risk her life to help him. He wasn't sure what would have happened if she'd stayed out of it. Would the other boy have killed him? Maybe. Even the bear's teeth hadn't made a dent in the boy's metal skin – not until Victoria had distracted him and forced him to revert back to his normal skin.

"Thank you," John finally managed, glancing up at his ally. His partner. His … maybe even his friend.

But Victoria only looked confused. "For what?"

"For what you did. For helping me. He could have killed you."

Victoria shrugged. "Could've killed you, too. But not both of us – not together."

John finally smiled a little. Maybe she was right. Alone, he might not have been able to defeat the other boy. Certainly Victoria wouldn't have. But together … together they made quite a pair. "Together," he agreed as she offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. "Let's get out of here," he suggested, motioning away from the dead body.

Victoria shook her head. "Wait. Maybe he had something useful." She quickly knelt down and started digging through the boy's backpack. Inside was a sandwich bag full of dried apples, a scarf, and a thin, folded blanket.

John nodded, kneeling beside her and opening his own bag, which contained a bag of raisins, an extra pair of pants, and a watch. John scoffed. "What are we supposed to do with a watch? It's not as if it matters what time it is here?"

Victoria shrugged. "I don't know. What are we supposed to do with these bandannas?" Sure enough, her own bag contained an extra one, along with a package of crackers and a roll of cord. At least the cord might be useful if they wanted to build some sort of shelter. And at least they had a little food. Now they just needed—

"Water," Victoria suggested, as if she'd read his mind. "We should see if we can find some water. Did you see any before we landed?"

John shook his head. "Just the ocean. Salt water's not going to do us much good. But the boy who was shooting down the parachutes – I think he went that way." John nodded off to the right. "So maybe we should…" He hesitated, not quite sure how that sentence should end. Did they want to avoid him? Or would it be better to find him? Eliminate him quickly.

"Head the other way, then?" Victoria finished. "If he wants to finish off some of the others for us, who are we to argue?" She nodded towards a slope in the other direction. "Maybe there's some water near that hill."

John nodded. That was as good an idea as any. And at least it gave them some sense of direction. Some purpose other than killing their fellow contestants. He'd already had his fill of that.

But how long could he avoid having to kill again?

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

How long could she keep running?

Clara gasped as she finally slowed down a little. She hadn't looked back since noticing that Ryden had separated from her and run the other way. For a while, she had assumed that John was still behind her. And as long as he was following her, Ryden would be safe. By the time she'd realized the bear wasn't chasing her anymore, it had been too late to turn around. Either Ryden had managed to outrun John, or…

Or one of them was dead. Clara clenched her fists as she finally slowed to a stop. That was the worst part – not knowing. Because even if Ryden was still alive – even if he'd managed to escape John, or even kill him – would he still be able to catch up to her?

Would he even try?

She hadn't meant to leave him, of course. But he had no way of knowing that. For all he knew, she'd abandoned him to get eaten by a bear. If he found her again, would he even want anything to do with her? Or would he blame her, the way John had. Maybe it was better if they stayed far away from each other. Maybe it was better if _she_ stayed far away from everyone. Maybe teaming up with _anyone_ had been a mistake. Maybe…

"Clara!" The voice caught her by surprise. She'd been so focused on Ryden, she'd almost forgotten about Parker. How had she managed to find her? She hadn't seen Parker since they'd released their parachutes – Parker a bit sooner than her, floating up beyond her view before Clara had pulled her own strap. Was that how she'd found her? Had she been able to see her from above and land in the same area? Maybe. Or maybe she'd simply gotten lucky.

Either way, Parker seemed unharmed as she approached from the right, her backpack slung over her shoulders, a little overstuffed now – probably with her parachute. Clara smiled a little. She hadn't had much of a chance to think about repacking hers; it was still back where she'd landed, and she had no intention of going back for it now. But maybe it was good that Parker had kept hers. It could be useful for some sort of shelter.

"Have you seen Ryden?" Parker asked once she got a little closer.

Clara froze. She'd assumed that Parker would be able to tell what had happened. But if she could only see the near future – not the past – then maybe she had no way of knowing. Maybe that meant that, whatever had happened between Ryden and John, it was over now. Or maybe she simply hadn't thought to look. That seemed odd, but maybe she didn't _want_ to look. Or maybe she'd been assuming that the two of them would be together, and there was no reason to spy on Ryden's future.

Clara shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter. And there was no point in lying. If they were going to work together, they needed to trust each other. Besides, what had happened … it hadn't been her fault. "John landed near us," Clara explained. "Both Ryden and I ran, but we split up, and John must have gone after Ryden. I thought … well, I assumed he would go after _me_ , because I'm the one who…" She trailed off. _The one who betrayed him. The one he has a reason to hate_. "Anyway, I haven't seen either of them since then."

Parker shook her head. "I have."

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

"I have."

Parker took a step closer as she explained. "I saw them from the air – a little ways away from here. The wind blew me this way, but it looked like … it looked like John won."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you ask what happened?"

"I didn't know what happened before that. Why Ryden was alone. And I didn't know if you would tell me the truth. Now I do."

"And if I hadn't?"

"I would've suggested we split up. No point in having a partner you can't trust."

Clara nodded. "Fair enough. So where to now?"

"Away from John," Parker suggested. "He may have gotten carried away and gone after Ryden instead of you, but that doesn't mean he's forgotten about you. He probably saw which way you ran. He may even be saving you for later – trying to make you afraid first, get a good hunt out of it."

"A good hunt?"

"I don't know if bears enjoy that sort of thing, but—"

"He's not a bear. Not really."

"True, but we don't know how much control he has when he's in bear form. You couldn't control him for long. And we know Jayden could talk to him in bear form, so there might be part of his mind that's … I don't know. Not completely his. Anyway, we should try to give him the slip, if we can. Mask our scent or … something."

"How?"

 _Think._ What had she always been told about bears? "We should see if we have any food in our packs," she offered, "and if we do, we should find somewhere safe to put it, so we don't smell like food. If we find some water, we could try to wash our scent off. Or cover ourselves with dirt or…"

Clara smirked. "Well, look at you, Tarzan. Let's start with the first one, anyway – see if we have any food." She sat down and opened her own pack, revealing a package of fig bars, a hat, and a small box of matches. Parker quickly sorted through her own pack, which contained a bag of chocolate chip cookies, a folded rain poncho, and a pocketknife. Clara whistled. "That could come in handy."

Parker nodded. Whether Clara had meant it could come in handy for cutting up their parachute or peeling bark off a tree if they happened to find one, or if she had meant it could come in handy in a fight, Parker wasn't sure. Wasn't sure which one Clara meant, and wasn't sure which one she _wanted_ to believe Clara had meant. If John had already killed Ryden, as it seemed he had, then they had to be prepared for a fight. But would a pocketknife really do them any good in a fight against a bear?

Maybe not. But it might still come in handy. Parker slipped the knife in her pocket and tucked the other items back in her pack. Clara did the same. "All right, then. Let's see what we can do about finding some water, and either find a place to store the food or … well, eat it, I suppose. There's probably something else to eat here, if the expect us to last more than a few days."

 _If._ It had been unclear from the start how long the people in charge were expecting the Games to last. She had assumed it would take a few days, at least, for the contestants to begin fighting. But if they had already started to kill each other…

Maybe the Games would be shorter than she'd thought.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Maybe this wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

Natasha couldn't help smiling a little as the five of them sorted through their backpacks. It had taken a little while for them to find each other, but she felt much better now that they had. Much more … comfortable, almost, although that felt like an odd word to use in this sort of situation. They had just seen several contestants shot out of the sky, after all. Any one of them could have been targeted, instead. Isadore had almost been killed. The idea that the others' company might be enough to make her feel comfortable after something like that was surprising.

And yet, it was almost enough. Almost enough to make her forget why they were here. Almost. Natasha glanced around at the supplies they'd sorted. Between the five of them, they had a fair amount of food: a bag of peanuts, a package of fig bars, a bag of chocolate chip cookies, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of water. They'd also found a rain poncho, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses, an extra jacket, an extra pair of pants, a box of matches, a headlamp, a tarp, and a whistle. Four of their five parachutes were undamaged, giving them material that could be useful for shelter. And, most importantly, in Isadore's pack, they'd found a map of the island.

"I think that's that hill over there," Cassidy offered, pointing at an elevated spot on the map, then gesturing to a hill – maybe a mountain, even – in the distance. "It looks like there's some water in the other direction."

Ben nodded. "Other direction it is, then. A landmark like a mountain is likely to draw attention, anyway – and that's something we don't want."

Right. Attention was something they didn't want. That was going to take some getting used to. But Ben was right. Attention from the other groups meant they could be targeted. But, so far, no one had seemed interested in that. No one had come after them specifically, and there didn't seem to be any pattern to who had been targeted by the shadows that had brought down several of the parachutes. Had the boy meant for it to be random? Or had he just gotten lucky?

Either way, no one seemed particularly intent on hunting them down. Which made sense. If she was looking for easy targets, after all, she wouldn't choose a group of five. No, she'd probably go after one of the contestants who had decided to go it alone. Was that why Ky had been so willing to start the fighting? Was he trying to prove that he wasn't an easy target? Was he trying to avoid being attacked?

And would it work? Or would the fact that he had been willing to kill mean that the others would consider him fair game? Natasha shook her head as the five of them repacked their bags and set out in what was, as near as they could tell, the quickest way to the lake that seemed to be the nearest on the map. It was all too complicated. Plans and strategies. Moves and countermoves. She didn't want to be a part of that. She never had. She just wanted to live her own life.

But that meant she would have to play their game.

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

Eventually, they would have to play the game.

Rosalind glanced up at Hadley as the pair of them knelt by a stream. Hadley had tested the water first, to make sure it was safe, but there didn't really seem to be much point in that. If the MAAB had wanted to poison them, after all, they could easily have done so. They could have put poison in their cookies or granola bars. Or if they'd really wanted, they could have laced their collars with some sort of poison.

But that wasn't what they wanted. They didn't just want their contestants to _die_. They wanted them to kill. To play along with their little game until only one of them was left. And no matter how hard she and Hadley might try to avoid the other contestants, eventually, they would have to play by the MAAB's rules if they wanted to make it out alive.

 _They_. But there was no 'they.' Not really. Not if _she_ wanted to live. If she wanted to live, Hadley would have to die. But not yet. And it didn't have to be her fault. Not that it was likely to be. She wasn't even sure how anyone would go about killing Hadley even if they wanted to.

Even if they wanted to. Not that any of them really _wanted_ to kill. She certainly didn't. But here she was, anyway, pondering how someone might manage to kill her only partner, because they both knew that was part of the Games. Someone would have to kill Hadley. And she would have to kill. Not necessarily Hadley, but _someone_. What made that any different than killing her friend?

Nothing. There was no difference – or, at least, not much – between _any_ of them. They all wanted the same thing. They all wanted to survive. But only one of them was going to get what they wanted. What were the chances that it would really be her?

Rosalind drank a little more water. Whatever her chances were, they were better than the chances of the two or three contestants who had been shot down out of the sky. Were they already dead? Certainly they were injured, even if they had survived. At least she and Hadley had made it to the ground unharmed. That was something. And they had found water. They would probably be safe for a while.

For a while. But not forever. Even if she made it out of the Games – even if she was somehow the one contestant who was lucky enough to survive – would she ever really feel safe again? What did the MAAB have in store for the winner? Had they even thought that far ahead? There certainly seemed to be some aspects of the Games that they hadn't entirely thought through? What if they got to the end, only to realize that they didn't really _need_ to keep the winner alive? Or what if they'd planned all along to kill the remaining contestant?

 _Stop it._ Now she was just being paranoid. They _had_ to let the winner live, or else their little game wouldn't work a second time. And they certainly planned to have it work more than once. They wouldn't go through all this trouble if they didn't mean to keep the Games going for years and years. But those years – those weren't her problem. The only game she had to worry about was this one. The only life she had to worry about was her own.

Anything else … that wasn't her problem.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

He kept trying to tell himself it wasn't his problem.

Terry took a deep breath of the fresh island air as he and Taylor stopped for another rest along the stream. Neither of them particularly needed a break, but it seemed like a good idea to keep up their strength. They'd found some berries on the mossy plants that might be edible, but neither of them was particularly eager to test them out and see if they were poisonous or not. Maybe if they ran out of the food in their packs…

 _When_ they ran out. It wasn't really a matter of _if._ Their jerky sticks and orange juice would only last so long. There didn't seem to be a shortage of water on the island, but food might eventually be a problem.

 _That_ was his problem. Food. Water. Keeping himself alive. Anything else wasn't his concern. _Couldn't_ be his concern, if he wanted to survive. The fact that several of the contestants had been shot out of the air, that they hadn't even had a chance to land before their fates had been decided … It wasn't fair, but it also wasn't something he could worry about. Wasn't something he could change.

And it wasn't something he _would_ change if he could – not if he wanted to survive. As harsh as it seemed, the sooner the other contestants were removed from the game, the better. The more the others killed each other off, the fewer of them he would have to worry about … and the fewer of them he would have to kill.

The problem was, of course, that they had no way of knowing exactly who was dead, or even how many might have been killed. Maybe that was part of the suspense. If they didn't know exactly how many of the others were left, then they had no way of knowing how long the Games might go on. They couldn't really ration their food – not well, at least – if they didn't know how long it would have to last.

But even that wasn't the most pressing concern. After all, there was were probably edible plants somewhere on the island, or some sort of animals that they could catch and eat. He'd already seen several birds flying overhead; if nothing else, they could try to trap some of those. And there were probably fish in the shallow water by the shore that they'd be able to catch. No, the bigger problem with not knowing exactly how long the Games would last was the fact that they had no way to know how long there would be a 'they'? How long the two of them could work together before…

Before what? It wasn't as if the MAAB could really expect them to turn on _each other._ If it came down to him and Taylor – even if their captors had some way to inform them that they were the only ones left – how could they hope to force them to fight? How could they make that look real? It wasn't as if the MAAB had any leverage that they could use against either of them. They'd already killed the only family he had. He had no particular reason to want to go _home_ , as opposed to living out his life on this island. And Taylor … Who did she have back home? A few of her fellow mutants, she'd said, who had been living on the streets with her. But she didn't seem to be holding out much hope of seeing them again. Even if they sent her back, they would stay hidden, if they knew what was good for them.

Terry took another drink of water as the two of them prepared to keep moving. They were a long way away from that. Days – maybe even weeks – away from having to make that sort of decision. Chances were, one of them would be dead long before it came to that. Maybe both of them. There was no point in worrying about what might happen that far in the future.

He just hoped he would last that long.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"She won't last much longer."

Piper shook her head as she wrapped the last of the gauze they'd found in Akil's pack around Diana's head. Her friend was already covered in the blanket they'd found in Diana's pack. The rest of their supplies were strewn out on the ground: a few strips of beef jerky, some raisins and granola bars, gloves, sunglasses, an extra bandanna, and a small headlamp. But none of it was doing much good. Diana hadn't woken since Akil had helped her fall asleep earlier. They'd been able to carry her a little, but hadn't really made it far before they'd had to stop to rest.

"Piper…" Akil's voice was quiet. Almost gentle. But there was nothing he could do to soften the blow of what he was suggesting.

Piper shook her head again. "No! We're not leaving her."

Akil took a step closer. "No. I meant … I mean … maybe we should … Piper, we don't have a way to treat her out here. Look around. Do you see a hospital? Doctors? _Anyone_ who can help her? Anyone who would _want_ to?"

" _I_ want to!" But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't enough. She wouldn't be able to _do_ enough. She wasn't a doctor. A nurse. A paramedic. She wasn't even sure she'd wrapped their bandages tightly enough around Diana's head. But if Akil was right – if it didn't _matter_ what they did, if Diana was going to die, anyway – then she'd just wasted their only medical supplies. And Akil had let her do it.

"I know you do." Akil took another step closer, kneeling down beside her. "But we can't … Piper, we can't stay here. And we can't leave her. Not when someone who found her might not do it as quickly as—"

"What?" Was he really suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting? Leaving Diana behind was one thing. But _killing_ her? That was even worse.

Wasn't it?

Piper gripped Diana's hand tightly. "I can't. _We_ can't. We can't just kill her."

"Well, we can't leave her. And we can't keep carrying her everywhere."

"Why?"

"Because there's no reason we should put our lives at risk if…" He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't have to. _If she's going to die anyway._ And she would. She'd managed to bandage some of Diana's injuries, but her stomach had turned an alarming shade of purple. There was nothing they could do about her internal injuries. It was amazing she'd survived this long…

Piper shook her head. "What if we just wait? Wait to see what happens? Maybe…" Maybe what? Maybe Diana would spontaneously heal herself? Her powers had nothing to do with that. None of theirs did.

Akil laid a hand on her shoulder. "What would you want, if you were in her place? Would you want her to waste time and energy trying to save you, if there was no hope? Or would you want her to keep going – to save herself?"

Piper looked up. He was right. Just not in the way he thought. "It's not about what I would want. It's about what _she_ wants."

"But we have no way of knowing—" Akil started, but then realized where she was going. "Okay," he agreed. "Lie down."

She just hoped this would still work.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

He just hoped they would both stay asleep long enough.

Akil waited until he was certain Piper was asleep. As soon as she'd suggested finding out what Diana wanted, he knew what he had to do. Piper would never agree to speeding the process along – even if it turned out that was what Diana wanted. He had no doubt that she would wake up insisting that Diana would want to live.

And the worst part was, it would probably be the truth. After all, who wouldn't want to live? But that wasn't really an option. The only option was how slowly she was going to die – and how much time and effort they would spend trying to keep her alive, trying to prevent the inevitable. Piper had already used up the gauze they'd found in his pack before he'd had a chance to try to convince her not to. And maybe that wasn't such a big deal; they could always use their clothes as bandages, in a pinch, or maybe even the fabric from the parachutes. No, the real concern was _time_. And if they wasted any more of that…

They had no idea, after all, who might have seen which way they had gone. The blood dripping from Diana's injuries left a pretty clear trail for anyone who might be interested in following them. And even if the other contestants weren't intent on pursuing them, there was no telling what sort of animals might be on the island. What sort of predators they might have to contend with if they stayed in one place for too long with a trail of blood leading right to them.

He hadn't told Piper that. And she certainly wasn't going to think of that. She wasn't thinking about survival. She was only thinking about trying to save her friend. And, in ordinary circumstances, maybe that would be a good thing.

But these _weren't_ ordinary circumstances. And if she didn't realize that yet, then he would have to act for her. Carefully, gently, he drew the blanket off of Diana and bunched it up until he was sure it was thick enough. Too thick for any air to get through. Silently, careful not to wake Piper, he laid it over Diana's face.

He'd expected a struggle. Expected her to wake and start thrashing – maybe even to wake Piper. He was prepared to project some sort of image into Piper's mind if she woke – the illusion that Diana was already dead, perhaps, and he was just cleaning the blood off the body. But nothing happened. Diana didn't stir. The little movements – the shivering, the gentle rhythm of her chest moving up and down, the flickering beneath her eyelids – simply stopped.

He waited one moment. Then another. He had to be certain. He didn't want to do this again. His hands were already shaking. He'd really done it. He'd … he'd _killed_ her.

She would have died anyway, of course. He'd told Piper as much. But, still, he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. So … easily. It hadn't even taken much force. Just enough to press the blanket against her face. That was enough to stop her from breathing. Enough to end her … what? Her suffering? Yes. Yes, that was it. He hadn't wanted her to suffer. That was what he would tell Piper, if she figured it out.

 _When_ she figured it out. She was a bit naive, maybe, but not stupid. She would be able to put the pieces together. He had suggested killing Diana. Now she was dead. It didn't take a detective to figure it out.

He just hoped she would understand.

* * *

 **Rory Cunningham, 15**

He still didn't quite understand how Simon was navigating.

Rory glanced over Simon's shoulder again, eyeing the map. There weren't any rivers on the map, and they had already ventured too far from the shore for Simon to be using that. Still, Simon was leading them confidently along the stream they'd found in a direction he seemed certain would lead them to one of the lakes on the map. Maybe he could hear something they couldn't – the running water, maybe, or some sort of animal by the lake. Or maybe he was bluffing. Hoping to run across water and be proven right despite not knowing what he was doing.

Still, Rory kept his mouth shut. He wasn't exactly in a position to question what Simon was doing. It wasn't as if he would have any better ideas about how to navigate. There didn't seem to be any particular landmarks on the mostly flat, treeless, almost completely barren island. There were streams to follow, and that provided enough water for the moment, but they'd been hoping that a lake might draw animals that they could eat – or that there might even be fish they could catch. But it wasn't as if they would die of hunger any time soon; their supplies would last a while.

A while. But not forever. "How long do you think this will last?" Rory blurted out before he'd even really thought the question through.

Reese raised an eyebrow. "How long do we think _what_ will last? This little hike? The food? The Games?"

Rory hesitated. He'd meant the food. But the question of how long the Games would last was really the more important one. After all, how long they could ration their food wouldn't matter if the three of them were killed before then. "The Games," he decided. "How long do you think the Games will last?"

Reese shook his head. "If you'd asked me yesterday … I would have thought it would be a long time. I would've assumed it would be weeks – maybe even months – before enough of us would turn on each other to really get the Games started. I didn't really think…"

"—that anyone would be ready to fight right away," Simon finished.

Reese nodded. "I guess they just want to … well, get it over with. I just didn't think anyone would be so eager."

Eager. That seemed like the wrong word. Even the contestant who had been shooting parachutes out of the sky – he hadn't gotten close enough to see who it was – had only been taking advantage of an opportunity. If his own power were something a bit more dangerous, would he have done the same thing?

But his power wasn't dangerous. All he had was a small pocketknife. Reese and Simon had even less than that. None of them really had any way to defend themselves, if someone happened to attack. So their best bet was to stay as far away from the other contestants as possible.

Maybe that was what Simon was really doing. Trying to steer away from any sounds the other contestants might be making. And maybe that was a good plan. But he couldn't help but wonder how long it would last. How long simply staying out of the way could keep them safe.

How long before they would have to fight?

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

He didn't want a fight.

Austin ducked down as low as he could, along with Verona and Jayden, as the two figures in the distance crept slowly closer. Every instinct was telling him to run. But, even if he did, would the others be able to keep up? Would the contestants who were approaching decide to chase them, if they saw? Or were they simply looking for water, too? Would they – whoever they were – be just as reluctant to start a fight?

It wasn't worth the risk. "We should get out of here," Austin whispered. "Before they get too close."

Jayden nodded her agreement. "We can always come back for water later."

"If they _let_ us come back later," Verona pointed out. "What if they decide to stay here?"

"Then we find water somewhere else," Jayden offered. "We could follow that stream, and we'll be fine." She nodded towards one of the smaller streams leading up to the lake. "Come on. It's not worth fighting over."

It wasn't. Not by a long shot. And it wasn't as if any of them would be much help if it came down to a fight. A little water wasn't worth getting hurt – or maybe even killed – over. So what was Verona waiting for?

She shook her head again. "Shouldn't we at least wait and see who it is?"

"It doesn't _matter_ who it is," Austin insisted.

"Let's _go_ ," Jayden agreed, and, for a moment, she appeared ready to take off – with or without them.

But, after a moment, Verona nodded. "Okay. Let's go." Quietly, the three of them crept off in the other direction. Away from the lake. Away from the contestants who were approaching.

Austin breathed a sigh of relief once they were finally out of sight. They wouldn't be able to avoid the other contestants forever, but they could do their best. And there was no point in getting into a fight this soon – especially one they could so easily avoid.

"I wonder how they'll explain that one," Verona whispered. "' _Look, these mutants are so skittish they don't even dare share their water?'_ Or maybe, ' _In a well-planned strategic move, the three young mutants make a calculated retreat, already plotting their return.'_ " She shook her head. "No matter what we do, we look like…"

"Like animals," Jayden offered, glancing at the fox that was still padding along behind them. Sure enough, Verona's suggestions for how the MAAB could spin their decision sounded a little too much like the narration for an animal documentary. Austin clenched his fists. They weren't animals. They were…

What? Despite his mutation, he'd never really thought of himself as anything but human. A special sort of human, maybe, but human nonetheless. And Verona and Jayden – they were human enough. Sure, Jayden was a bit … skittish was the word Verona had used, and that didn't seem too far off. But that was a human enough trait, wasn't it?

Austin adjusted his backpack as the trio continued to follow the little stream. It didn't matter. _Shouldn't_ matter how the audience was going to see them. Verona was right; no matter what they did, the MAAB would paint them all as animals. Killers. Monsters that needed to be controlled – or destroyed. But that didn't make it true.

Did it?

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 27**

It had been the right move, hadn't it?

Vincent leaned back in his chair as Ian paced anxiously in front of the screen. Austin, Verona, and Jayden had narrowly avoided … what? Running into Cameron and Tariq? He doubted there would have been a confrontation, even if the three younger mutants had stayed. They would probably have agreed that there was plenty of water to go around.

Still, maybe it was better not to chance it. After all, the three of them had no way of knowing that it was Cameron and Tariq approaching, rather than, say, John and Victoria. And by the time they'd let the others get close enough to tell it was them, it might have been too late to run if it had turned out to be a more dangerous group. They were playing it safe. That was good, wasn't it?

Vincent glanced at one screen, and then another. Most of the groups seemed to be playing it safe. Seeking out food, water, and what shelter they could find. Avoiding the other contestants as well as they could. Ky had been perfectly willing to shoot some of the contestants out of the sky, but even he didn't seem particularly eager to engage in what might be a fair fight. Even John and Victoria seemed content to rest for the moment, giving themselves time to recover and plan their next move.

Their next move. Already he was thinking about this like a game – and most of the others seemed to be, as well. Moves and strategies and players. Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that they were going to be fighting – and killing – other _people_.

"It's almost noon," Ian muttered. "Something's wrong."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "What? You're worried that Alvin hasn't brought any food back yet? I'm sure he's got other things to—"

Ian shook his head. "It's not that. Everyone seems to be moving. Trying to find shelter. Trying to find water. If they've stopped, it's only to eat a little food before moving on."

Vincent nodded. "Makes sense. Some of them figure they have less of a chance of being found if they keep moving. The others know water should be a priority, even if they happen to have a little with them. I don't see what—"

"—except who?" Ian finished. "Who's not moving?"

Vincent scanned the screens again. "Akil and Piper. But she's still asleep, so—"

"Why?"

"What?"

" _Why_ is she still asleep?"

Vincent shrugged. "Akil probably doesn't want to wake her – wants to put off telling her what he did."

"Maybe. But he hasn't exactly been quiet. He's done everything short of trying to shake her awake. Besides, he wanted to get moving. That's why he…" Ian trailed off, not quite able to say the words.

"Why he killed Diana," Vincent finished. "Piper went to sleep so she could talk to her. If they were talking when she died—"

"That should have been a dead giveaway that it was over," Ian pointed out. "That she could wake up."

Maria shook her head, a little annoyed by his choice of words. "Dead giveaway? Really?"

"That's not what I meant. I just … I think something might be wrong."

"Everything's wrong," Vincent pointed out. "They're in a fight to the death."

"I mean something might be wrong with … with Diana. She's dead, but if she was sleeping when she died … What happens to her in the dreamworld?"

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. I suppose there'd be no way to know. What are you getting at?"

Ian crossed his arms. "When Alvin comes back … I think I need a nap."

* * *

" _Every so often … since I look like a demon … I have this irresistible urge to play the part."_


	21. Rules

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "favorite alliance" poll if you haven't yet. A new poll will be up with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Rules**

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 57  
** **March 20th, 12:07 AKST**

She just wished the others would settle down a bit.

Lillian couldn't help a smile as she watched the others bustle about, fiddling with the screens, adjusting the angles and the zoom, making sure everything looked perfect. Mack was concerned with finding the perfect shots for their project, Alvin with making sure as many cameras as possible were up and running. There had been a few glitches, but nothing major. Certainly nothing he couldn't handle.

Nothing to worry about.

All in all, the Games were proceeding even better than she could have hoped. It had barely been three hours since the contestants had landed on the island, and three of them had already been eliminated. She couldn't have wished for a better start to the Games. So why was everyone else suddenly so concerned?

Lillian leaned back in her chair. It was their job, perhaps, to anticipate whatever problems might arise. To plan for every eventuality. But the planning … that was already done. She had been asked to design a perfect arena, and she had done just that. As far as she was concerned, all that remained was to sit back and watch the experiment unfold.

And unfold it would. She had no doubt of that now. Not that she'd ever had _much_ doubt, but she _had_ wondered what would happen if none of the contestants were willing to take the lead and start the fight. But that hadn't been the case. Three contestants so far had proven themselves willing to kill.

There would be more, of course, when it came down to it. It was one thing to take the initiative and start a fight. Once the fight came to _them_ , she had no doubt most of the contestants would be willing to fight. And those who weren't … well, that was their choice. Not a choice she would have made in their place, but a choice, nonetheless – a choice they were free to make. But that didn't free them from the consequences.

 _The consequences._ That was a nice way of putting it. But surely it was clear by now what the consequences were. Having good intentions wouldn't save them from death. From being killed – slaughtered, even – by their fellow contestants, once the majority of them truly realized what was at stake. It was only a matter of time before most of them – even the more timid ones with less formidable powers – were willing to fight for their lives.

Just as anyone – human or mutant – would. But that wasn't the way the audience would see it. The public, unaware that the contestants had been _instructed_ to kill each other, would see only bloodthirsty murderers. Mack would see to that. And that perception would make it easier next time. Easier to justify selecting more contestants. Easier to _identify_ mutants. Once it was clear how dangerous mutants were, their friends and even their families might identify them for the government. Mutants would be even easier to find than before.

But first they had to deal with these ones.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

First they had to make sure no one would attack them.

Tariq glanced around at the lake. Whichever contestants had been there before, they appeared to have left. _Appeared to._ They had no way of knowing for sure whether the others were actually gone, or whether they were waiting, silently, for the pair of them to let their guards down. To make a wrong move. One mistake, and it could all be over.

But they couldn't afford to let that stop them from living. That would be even more of a shame. If these were, indeed, to be his last days, then there was no avoiding the fact. They could either hide from every shadow, every hint of movement, or they could set an example. In fact, he wouldn't be particularly worried, if it weren't for Cameron. His own life, he could risk. Cameron's…

Tariq took another step towards the water. Then another. No one appeared – no one and nothing. He nodded to Cameron. "It looks safe."

"Safe," Cameron repeated, as if he still didn't quite believe it. And maybe the boy had a point. There was nowhere in the arena, after all, that was truly safe. But this was about as good a position as they could hope to be in. They had food. They had found water. There didn't appear to be any shelter nearby, but at least they could see in all directions. They would be able to see any of the other contestants coming.

Until it got dark, of course. The sun was already high in the sky. What would happen when it set? Would the other contestants want to rest at night, or would they grow bolder under the cover of darkness? There was no way of knowing. Not yet.

Tariq shook the thought from his head, quickly kneeling down by the side of the lake and drinking his fill. Cameron followed his example. "Whoever was here, I guess they left," the younger boy offered. "If they were going to attack us, you'd think they would have done it by now."

"Probably," Tariq agreed. "We're probably safe for now." He dipped his hands into the water again. It was cold but clean, and he could see a few small fish swimming around by the edge of the lake.

"Maybe we could make a net," Cameron suggested when he saw Tariq eyeing the fish. "Or some sort of fishing line."

Tariq shrugged. "The fish don't look very big."

"There might be bigger ones in the deeper part of the lake," Cameron reasoned. "And it would give us something to do."

Something to do. Tariq couldn't help a smile. Cameron always wanted to be _doing_ something. But maybe keeping active helped him feel safer, and making a net wasn't going to hurt anything. "Let's try it, then," Tariq agreed. "Where's the harm?"

The harm, of course – or, at least, the potential for harm – was in getting too comfortable. Too relaxed. Too convinced of their own safety. The other contestants at the lake had left, of course, but there was no way to know whether or not they planned on coming back – or who else might find the lake. They'd found it fairly easily, after all. They'd had a map, but there was no telling who else might have one, too.

There was no telling who else might find them.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

There was no telling who else might be looking for water.

Ben nodded to Cassidy as the pair of them approached what appeared to be a lake. The two of them had decided to go ahead, make sure it would be safe for all of them to approach. If it ended up being safe, they would end up looking like the leaders of the group, which could put them at an advantage. If not…

If not, they were pretty well positioned to fend off whatever sort of attack might come. Between the two of them, they could use the water from the lake to douse whoever might want to harm them, then drain the heat from the water. He didn't relish the thought, but it was a pretty good plan if they needed to defend themselves.

 _If._ But it wasn't even really a matter of _if_ they would need to defend themselves. It was only a matter of when. Only a matter of how soon they would be called upon to use their powers to defend the group. When that time came, he just hoped the others would be ready.

Hell, he hoped _he_ would be ready. He was used to competitions. To games. But this was different. He'd always been able to trust his teammates before, because when their football team won, the whole _team_ won. They weren't competing against each other for anything besides stats and bragging rights. Now…

Now, they were competing for the right to _live_. To survive the Games. And only one of them could win. Sure, he could work with the others for a time, but they all knew that couldn't last forever.

Even Maria had known that. She'd suggested that when they split up, they should do it peacefully. Separate without fighting each other. And, at the time, that had sounded like good advice. He didn't _want_ to hurt any of the others. But the truth was that some of his fiercest competition could come from within their own group. Some of the most impressive abilities were those of the mutants he'd chosen to team up with.

And with good reason. He'd wanted teammates who could help each other. Protect each other. But the disadvantage of that was that, when the time came, it would be that much harder to do what might have to be done. To fight each other for the right to go home.

Home. But that was a long ways away. Even the end of the Games was probably far away. They were still days – maybe even weeks – from even having to _think_ about fighting each other. Chances were, they would split up before then. Or…

Or someone else could kill some of them before then. It was only a matter of time before they would be forced to fight, and it was naive to think that all five of them would make it out of a fight against a powerful opponent without a scratch. Chances were, it wouldn't come down to the five of them having to fight each other, because not that many of them would be left.

Ben glanced around one more time before signaling to the others. There didn't appear to be anyone else at the lake. If there was, they were hiding well, and if they were going to attack … well, they probably would have done it already. Certainly they would want to do it while they had _two_ opponents rather than five. Chances were, no one was even there. And now that they had found the lake, any other contestants approaching would be worried about _them_ attacking, rather than the other way around.

They were in about as good a position as they could hope for.

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

He was in about as good a position as he could hope for.

Ky finally sat down, his feet dangling over the cliff as he stared out at the ocean. He was still alive. Two or three of the other contestants might be dead – because of him. He'd shown the MAAB he was willing to play their Game – and to play by their rules. And he'd gotten away safely from the other contestants who had landed nearby.

Finally, he swung his backpack off his shoulders and opened it. Inside was a water bottle, another bandanna, and a watch. As long as the watch was accurate, it was a little past noon. Not that knowing that was particularly important, but it was something. Something that felt almost normal.

Almost. Knowing what time it was, after all, didn't erase what he'd done. Didn't change the fact that he'd killed. He was almost certain, of course, that the contestants he'd shot down were dead. They couldn't have survived a fall that far. Not without serious injuries. Injuries that would ensure their deaths under their present conditions. It would probably be better for them if they'd died immediately.

He had no way of knowing, though, whether or not that was the case. No way of knowing how many of the others were dead. Or whether he was the only one who had been ready to kill. And maybe that was part of the MAAB's plan. If they didn't know how many of the others were dead, they would have no way of knowing how many were left. Whether there were four contestants remaining or fourteen. Chances were, the survivor wouldn't even know when they were the only one left – not until someone came to get them.

Ky shook his head as he repacked his bag. He was getting ahead of himself. Even if a few of the contestants were dead, it would still be quite a while before only one of them was left. Especially since the contestants were probably spread out all across the island now – an island that had looked fairly large from above.

Not that he'd gotten much of a look. He'd pulled his parachute as late as he'd dared, and while that had given him an advantage at the start, it hadn't given him much of a chance to look around. But he was alive. And that was what mattered.

Slowly, Ky stood up. He had water – enough to last him a little while, at least. He was as far from the other contestants as he could hope to be. As safe as he could ever expect to be in a fight to the death. So his next priority was to find food. There was plenty of moss growing on the rocks nearby, and a bit of shrubbery, but there was no way of knowing whether any of that was edible.

Maybe he would have to find out eventually. But he wasn't that hungry yet. He slung his pack over his shoulder and glanced down at the shore, at the waves lapping far below him. If he could find a way to get down there, maybe he could catch some fish. But the cliff seemed too steep to climb. He would have to find another way down.

Maybe he could find somewhere less steep. Ky glanced around, then started making his way along the edge of the cliff. Maybe it wasn't much, but it was something. It was a goal – a goal that didn't involve killing anyone. And, for now, that was good enough.

But how long would that last?

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

How long could she wait before making her next move?

Victoria glanced around as she followed John towards the hill in the distance. Now that they were getting closer, it looked much taller. More like a mountain than a hill. Had they made a mistake when they'd decided to come this way? Maybe. But if that turned out to be a mistake, it would be easy enough to fix. One word to John, and they could simply turn around and go back the way they had come. She didn't need to convince him of anything. Not anymore.

It felt good – being in control again. It had been so easy. Just a little push, and he'd been ready to go after Ryden, or Clara, or whoever else she might choose. And she could do it again. And again. It was always easier the second time. As long as she could persuade him to do her dirty work, she could eliminate the other contestants one by one without taking any real risk herself. And then…

And then what? If it came down to the two of them, then what? Would she kill him? Or perhaps simply tell him to kill himself? It had worked once, after all. She hadn't meant to cause her sister's death. But this … this would be deliberate. So she would have to be sure. Certain that it was what she wanted, and that they were, in fact, the last contestants alive.

Victoria almost laughed at the thought. She was getting ahead of herself. There were obviously more than a few of them left. She doubted there were more than three or four who were _dead_. Ryden was dead, of course. And probably one or two of the contestants who had been shot down. Other than that…

Other than that, they had no way of knowing. No way of knowing who else was dead – or who else had killed. Who else was playing the Game the way the MAAB had meant for them to play, and who had chosen not to – at least not yet. Eventually, they all would. They would play, or they would die. Most of them would play _and_ die. But one of them … one of them would get to live.

 _Get_ to live. As if it was a privilege. A special honor for the MAAB to dole out at will – letting one of them live. Giving one of them the opportunity to … what? To go back to their normal lives? Would there even be such a thing as a normal life after this? What was there for her to go back to?

But maybe it didn't matter. Didn't matter that she didn't have anyone waiting for her back home. Maybe it didn't even matter if she never _got_ to go back home. Life was life. And as long as she was alive, that was better than the alternative.

The alternative. It didn't sound quite so bad, when she thought about it like that. But that didn't erase the memory of John's bear teeth sinking into Ryden's neck. She had caused that. Sure, John was the one who had actually killed him, but he would never have gone after Ryden if it weren't for her instructions. She was responsible for Ryden's death.

She hadn't expected to feel so … disturbed by it. After all, Ryden had decided to stay and fight. And John … maybe it wasn't the fight he would have chosen, but he had certainly proven he was _willing_ to fight. That was the reason she'd wanted to team up with him in the first place. He had already proven he would kill.

And she had no doubt he would kill again.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She had no doubt they would kill again.

Penelope shook her head as she and Monet made their way along the cliff. Whoever had shot down Rachel wouldn't hesitate to kill again. And they were probably somewhere nearby. It was only a matter of time before the two of them would have to defend themselves. Unless…

Unless they made the first move. Sure, Monet only had a small pocketknife, but Penelope's abilities were more than enough for the both of them. If they could eliminate one of their deadlier opponents…

 _Eliminate._ That was a nice way of putting it. The way the government would certainly refer to it. They had to eliminate each other. The mutant threat had to be _eliminated._ The mutant problem had to be taken care of. But no matter how much they might try to sugar-coat it, the end result was the same: there would be twenty-nine dead mutants on the island before the Games were over.

And Monet would have to be among them, if she wanted to live.

But not yet. For now, she was glad to have the company, even if Monet's powers didn't seem to be contributing much. Her own powers hadn't been much use, after all. She certainly hadn't been able to stop Rachel from dying.

Rachel. She knew what the MAAB would want. What they would expect, especially from a trained fighter. They would expect her to go after the contestant who had shot Rachel out of the sky. They expected her to seek revenge. They would expect her to be angry. But even if she knew for sure who it was that had shot down her friend … then what? Whoever it was, they'd only been doing what they had thought was necessary in order to survive. Wouldn't she have done the same thing?

But she _hadn't_ done the same thing. When she'd landed, she could easily have channeled some of the energy from the waves – or maybe even from the impact of the landing – into a burst that would have knocked down several parachutes, as well. She could have done just as much damage. Maybe even more. But she hadn't.

Part of the reason, of course, was obvious. She'd been distracted by Rachel. Too focused on trying to save her friend that the thought of attacking hadn't even crossed her mind. But even if Rachel hadn't been attacked – if the three of them had landed safely, without distraction – would she have even thought about shooting down the other parachutes?

Probably not. Not because she _couldn't_ , but because that wasn't the sort of fighting she'd been trained for. The idea of shooting a helpless opponent without giving them a fighting chance – it was disgusting. It was something they'd never really practiced, because there was no challenge in it. No skill. It would have been easy. Too easy.

Physically, at least. It would have been a simple matter to shoot down a few parachutes. Monet, though … what would they have thought? What would they _think_ , once they inevitably had to fight? Would they be able to handle it? They'd handled Rachel's death as well as could be expected – for the moment, at least – but how long would that last?

How long before it was simply too much?

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

How long could they keep following this river?

Taylor glanced up at the sun, now high overhead in the sky. It had to be past noon by now. They'd already stopped to eat a little of the jerky from Terry's pack, and there was plenty of water, but that would only last so long. Once they ran out of food…

Then they would find some more. It was as simple as that. The MAAB wouldn't have chosen this island for their Games if there wouldn't be enough food to last them a while. They wanted them to kill _each other,_ after all, not die of starvation. It was only a matter of time before they found something edible.

Taylor glanced down at the stream they were following. So far, she hadn't seen any signs of food in there. There didn't appear to be any fish – or any other animals, for that matter. Maybe they were simply frightening all the animals away. They couldn't be very accustomed to human company – at least, not until the MAAB had decided to use the island.

And, even then, how much preparation had they really done? They'd probably placed cameras around the island, but as far as creating an environment that would isolate the contestants from any hope of escape … well, an island certainly seemed like a natural choice. If Alvin had been telling the truth about the nearest land being a hundred miles away, then surely no one would be stupid enough to try to escape.

She certainly wasn't going to be the one to try it. She could swim, yes, but not that far. And Terry – he didn't seem interested in escaping, either. He knew it was pointless. Most of the others would realize the same thing: the best use of their energy was in trying to stay alive. Or…

Or in making sure that others didn't. Taylor glanced around as she and Terry neared a bend in the stream. There didn't seem to be anyone else nearby, but there was no harm in being cautious. There were only two of them, after all. Some of the other groups that had formed were much larger.

There were disadvantages to that, too, of course. Larger groups would find hiding more difficult, and, if they found food, would have more people to share it among. As it was, if she or Terry found something, they would only have to split it between the two of them.

Taylor shifted her backpack uncomfortably. First, they would have to _find_ something. Their food would last them a little while, but not forever. Not long enough to keep them alive for the rest of the Games. Eventually, they would have to risk trying something else.

Suddenly, Terry knelt down by the stream, glancing up ahead. "What is it?" Taylor whispered.

Terry shook his head. "I think I hear something. Get down."

Get down. As if that was really going to do them any good out in the open. Taylor shook her head. "If someone's coming—"

"Or maybe some _thing_ ," Terry pointed out. "We don't know what sort of animals there might be on the island. If it's something dangerous—"

"Then what good is hiding going to do?" Taylor shrugged. It wasn't as if there was any sort of cover. They were out in the open, whether they were standing up or lying down. "What are you suggesting we hide under?"

Terry hesitated, then glanced at her pack. "I have an idea."

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

"Any idea where your friend is leading us?"

Verona glanced over at Jayden as they followed the fox along a small stream. Jayden seemed perfectly content to follow the animal. Maybe she thought it would lead them to some source of food. Maybe she was just happy to have _something_ to follow. Some sense of direction. Ever since they'd left the lake, it seemed as though they didn't really have any sense of what they might be looking _for_ – only what they were running _from_.

But they couldn't keep running forever – especially since they didn't even know who might be following them. _If_ anyone was following them. Whoever had found the lake, they had probably decided to stay there. That was what she would have done, if…

If the other contestants hadn't come looking for it. Or if she'd thought that she, Austin, and Jayden would be able to defend their position at the lake. But Jayden was right; it wasn't worth fighting over.

Eventually, though, _something_ would have to be worth fighting over. They couldn't keep running from the other contestants forever. Verona pulled her jacket tighter as the wind picked up. The fox's head perked up. "She smells something," Jayden whispered.

Austin took a step closer. "Something good or something bad? Food or…?" He didn't finish the sentence. Were there other contestants nearby?

"Stay here," Jayden whispered. "She's going to go find out."

Verona nodded a little as the fox padded off. It was certainly useful having a scout. She just hoped the fox wouldn't get hurt. That didn't seem particularly likely; the other contestants had no reason to hurt a fox. Unless they thought they might be able to eat her. Or unless they figured out that she was working with Jayden.

Most of the others probably knew, after all, that Jayden could communicate with animals. She'd given that away during training. Verona had revealed her own power, of course – the very first day. Austin was probably the only one of their group whose powers might come as a surprise to the other contestants.

It seemed like ages before the fox finally returned, her head bobbing up and down amid the shrubbery. Jayden knelt down, stroking the fox's fur before explaining. "There's a parachute up ahead – she says she smelled two people underneath it. Trying to hide, I guess. We should find some other direction."

Austin nodded. "All right, then. Another direction it is."

Verona reluctantly nodded her agreement. The decision made sense, of course. No need to rush into a confrontation when they could avoid one, instead. But how long could they keep doing this? They'd run to avoid the contestants at the lake. Now they were changing course to avoid … who? They didn't even have any way of knowing.

And it didn't seem to bother either of the others. In fact, Austin and Jayden seemed a bit happier as they headed off to their right, avoiding the contestants ahead of them. Did they really think they were going to be able to do this forever? Eventually…

Eventually, they wouldn't have a choice. Maybe they would be caught between one group of contestants and another. Or maybe another group would sneak up on them. Whatever happened, they wouldn't be able to avoid a fight forever.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

It was only a matter of time before they would have to find more food.

Rosalind took a step closer to Hadley. "Maybe we should get moving again. Follow the river. See if it leads us to … something."

Hadley barely seemed to hear her. He rolled over a little on the mossy ground, and the rocks rippled for a moment before solidifying again. "Something?"

Rosalind smiled a little. He looked so content, she almost hated to suggest leaving. But although the stream they'd found would provide them with plenty of water, cookies and granola bars would only last so long. "Maybe some fish," Rosalind suggested. "If the stream leads to the ocean, or to some sort of lake, maybe there'll be fish there. Or maybe there'll be some animals along the way – something we can catch."

Hadley nodded a little. "Right. Good idea."

Rosalind shook her head. From what Hadley had said, he'd been living on the streets before the Sentinels had found him. But how had he managed on his own, if he had to be reminded that finding food might be a good idea? She wasn't used to having to be the grown-up. But maybe his powers had been enough to keep him safe.

Until now. On the streets, he'd probably been the only mutant some people had encountered. They'd probably had the sense to avoid him once they figured out what he could do. Now … that sort of thing wouldn't work here. If anything, his abilities made him more of a target. Someone the others would want to take out as quickly as possible.

But they still needed food. And the fact remained that he would probably be able to defend himself against pretty much anyone else in the arena. All she had to do was stay close to him.

"Do you like fish?" The question caught her off-guard. She'd suggested they might find some fish, so maybe it was a natural thing to ask. But, right now, did it really matter whether or not she _liked_ them? Food was food. They weren't exactly in a position to be picky.

Still, she nodded. "Yeah. My mom and dad used to take me fishing by Lake Superior, before…" Before all of this. Before the Sentinels. Before the Games. Strange, how quickly she'd adjusted to talking – even thinking – about her family in the past tense.

Hadley nodded. "That sounds like fun."

Fun. It did sound like fun. It sounded almost … normal. Almost as if they were two friends headed out to the shore to go fishing together, rather than two contestants trapped in a fight to the death. "Maybe we should try to find something we can use as a fishing line," she suggested.

Hadley shook his head. "I don't think we'll need to."

"Why not?"

Hadley grinned. "Just wait and see."

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19**

"Well, so much for needing to build a fishing net."

Juliska grinned as Cassidy and Isadore lifted another layer of water out of the lake. Ben drained the heat from it, trapping the fish in the ice. As Cassidy and Isadore positioned the fish over dry land, Juliska directed a thin slice of flame, melting the ice around each of the fish until they dropped, flopping, onto the rocks below, where she and Ben collected them while the other two returned the water to the lake. Natasha was supposed to be keeping watch, but no one seemed particularly concerned that she was watching them, instead, grinning and clapping along like a schoolchild.

And maybe it didn't matter. It wasn't as if anyone would really be stupid enough to attack the five of them. It was obvious that they outnumbered pretty much any other group in the arena. And they were giving a pretty impressive demonstration of what their powers were. Anyone who wanted to attack them would have to be reckless or overly confident in their own abilities. Or both.

Still, it couldn't hurt to be careful – especially now that the sun was starting to sink a little lower in the sky. It wasn't too late yet – maybe three or four in the afternoon. But there was no telling how soon it might get dark here. And once it did…

Juliska shook her head. "I think that's enough fish. Natasha, come over here. Someone else can keep watch for a little while. Think you can make those fish fly while—"

"Levitate."

"Whatever. Think you can make those fish levitate while I cook them?"

"Of course."

"I'll keep watch," Ben offered, heading for the far side of the lake. But, almost immediately, he returned. "Someone's coming," he hissed.

Juliska scrambled to her feet, and the others quickly did the same. "How far?" Isadore asked.

"I'm not sure," Ben admitted. "I didn't see _them_ , really. But the ground was … shifting."

"Shifting?" Cassidy repeated.

Ben shook his head. "I'm not sure how else to describe it. Maybe whoever it is can control the ground the way you two control water – and they're not exactly being shy about doing it."

"Maybe they just can't control it," Isadore offered. "I know I couldn't at first. Not completely."

"Me, neither," Natasha agreed. "I'd wake up from a nap and – poof! – levitating."

Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So whoever we're dealing with probably doesn't have full control over what they're doing. That could make them dangerous."

Ben crossed his arms. "Or vulnerable."

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

"Or vulnerable."

For a moment, Cassidy wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Was he really suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? No one else seemed certain, either. But, finally, Juliska spoke up. "So what's the plan?"

Isadore cocked an eyebrow. "The plan?"

"For our attack."

"You really think that's a good idea?" Natasha asked.

Ben shook his head. "It's what we're here for – sooner or later. If we have a good chance now…"

"But _is_ it a good chance?" Isadore asked. "Do we really want to take on someone without having any real idea of what they can do?"

Juliska shrugged. "Ben said he saw the ground moving."

"Shifting," Natasha corrected.

"Same thing."

"Maybe. What if it's not the ground they're controlling?"

Ben shook his head. "Look, we have to make a choice – and quickly. Either we fight, or…"

"Or what?" Juliska asked. "What's the other option?"

"We leave," Isadore suggested. "Find somewhere else. There's plenty of island."

"But for how long? How long do you think we're going to be able to avoid what we're here to do?" Juliska shook her head. "I think we should fight."

"And I think we should leave," Isadore insisted.

"I think that's a good idea," Natasha agreed. "We don't know exactly what we're facing. Ben?"

Ben hesitated. "You're right. We don't know what we're facing. But, honestly … we might not get a better opportunity than this. We already know the terrain. Whoever's out there, they're coming to us. We'll have the upper hand – and the element of surprise. I think we should fight."

Isadore shook his head. "Cassidy?"

Cassidy glanced around the group. They were all looking at her. No one had said it, but it was clear now: it was a vote, and she had to break the tie. She clenched her fists tightly. She didn't _want_ to fight. She didn't want to kill. But Ben was right. They wouldn't be able to avoid it forever. "I think we should fight."

Ben clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Okay. That's that, then. We fight."

Cassidy nodded. "So what's the plan?"

Ben smiled a little. "How much water do you think you two can hold back?"

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

He just hoped they could hold back the water long enough.

Isadore took a deep breath. But not too deep. They didn't want to waste all their air. He and Cassidy were pressing the water up to the top of the lake, leaving a pocket of air for the five of them underneath the surface of the water. The air wouldn't last forever, of course. But they wouldn't be hiding forever. Only until their target came along.

Their target. Another contestant – or maybe more than one. Whoever happened to be unfortunate enough to stumble across their trap. He still wasn't comfortable with this. There had to be another way. They didn't have to fight. Not yet.

This wasn't how he'd pictured it at all. He'd thought that maybe some of the other contestants would attack _them_. He'd never imagined that the rest of his group would want to make the first move. And yet here they were, ready to attack whoever came along. Ready to kill.

"Isadore," Cassidy hissed, shaking him from his thoughts. The water was starting to drip. Isadore clenched his teeth and focused, and the dripping stopped. For now. How long could the two of them really keep this up?

"Are you all right?" Ben whispered.

Cassidy nodded. "Fine."

"Fine," Isadore echoed. But he wasn't fine. And neither was she. She didn't want to do this – no more than he did. But she had voted to stay. To fight. Why? Did she really think there was no other choice? Was she trying to impress the others? To impress the MAAB, maybe?

To impress Ben?

 _Stop it._ He had more than enough to worry about without getting suspicious of the others in his group. Their whole plan depended on all of them. If he couldn't trust them…

Then they were dead. It was as simple as that. One mistake – from any of them – and they might all die. They might all die, anyway, of course, if they underestimated their opponent. If whoever was coming had a trick up their sleeve. But there was no way of knowing. Not yet. And that was the worst part. Waiting.

He just hoped he wouldn't have to wait long.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

He just hoped they wouldn't have to wait long.

Reese held his breath as the girl approached the lake. They'd barely arrived and begun to drink their fill when Simon had warned them that someone was coming. He could only see one girl, which explained why Simon hadn't been able to hear her sooner. He couldn't hear her talking because … well, because there was no one for her to talk to. So he hadn't heard her until she was close enough for him to hear her footsteps. By that time, they could see her.

So far, though, she'd given no indication that she had seen _them_. The three of them were crouched behind a bush on the other side of the lake. It had seemed like a better idea than running, especially if she didn't want a fight. If she just wanted water, hopefully she'd have the sense to just drink some water and leave. No harm, no foul.

But if she didn't…

If she didn't, maybe they could sneak away. There were three of them, after all. She probably wouldn't want to go after three of them. Probably. They had no way of knowing, after all, what her powers were. But, by the same token, she had no way of knowing that _theirs_ weren't particularly threatening.

Just as she reached the lake, however, another girl appeared. And another – both identical to the first. The second giggled a little, but the third immediately crossed her arms, staring out around the lake, keeping watch as the first girl knelt down to drink.

Reese exchanged a glance with Simon and Rory. This changed everything. The girl probably wasn't going to leave. They had to get away _now_ , before even more of her appeared. Before they were outnumbered. Reese held a finger to his lips, and, as soon as the girl turned to watch the other direction, they began to creep away.

But not quickly enough. The girl turned back suddenly. Maybe she'd heard them. Maybe she'd seen them out of the corner of her eye. Either way, she pointed and called, "Over there!"

The first girl immediately sprang to her feet, and three more duplicates appeared. "Shit," Rory hissed as the girls began to rush in their direction. They hadn't been prepared for this. No one could have been prepared for this.

Rory, who had shrunk a bit to fit behind the bush, was quickly returning to his normal size. But, apparently, his feet couldn't keep up as they started to run. He quickly tripped and fell behind. "Damn it," Reese muttered, turning back while Simon kept running, helping Rory to his feet. "Grow back later," he hissed. "Just run."

But it was too late. The girls were already catching up. Rory fumbled in his pockets for a moment before finding his knife. "Stay back," he warned, pointing it at the girls. "We just want to leave. Just let us leave, and … and I won't hurt you."

Reese just hoped they would listen.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

They weren't listening.

Cyrene watched, hurrying to catch up, as her clones surrounded the two boys. One of them had a knife. Her clones had … what? None of them were armed. Maybe they could still overpower the boys, if they could all be convinced to fight. But only Rana, her rage-clone, seemed interested in that. The others were just following her orders.

The others. She'd never managed to summon so many of them at once. Tira and Luna she recognized, and her fear-clone. But the others … the others she wasn't sure. But she could figure that out later. Right now, she had to—

What? Convince them to stop? That was what she wanted to do, but would it work? Should she even try? After all, this was what they were here for – to fight. Maybe it was as good a time as any to find out if they were up to the task. She could always call them off if things started to go wrong. If the boys' powers proved to be too much.

But that didn't seem likely. If their powers were anything particularly impressive, why would the boy be threatening them with a pocketknife? Sure enough, as Rana stepped closer, the boy began to back away a little. Then a little more.

But he wasn't watching where he was going. He backed right into her fear clone, who, though unhurt, gave a yelp. That was enough for Rana to spring into action. She lunged, catching the boy off-guard and yanking the knife from his grip. The older boy took a step closer, but two clones barred his way as Rana plunged the knife into the boy's chest.

The boy screamed, clutching his chest as Rana pulled the knife back out. The older boy charged, tackling Rana to the ground. He punched her once. Twice. The third time, the knife slipped from Rana's grasp, and the boy scooped it up. "Rory, shrink!" he called, and the boy grew smaller. Smaller. Small enough for the older boy to pick him up, carrying him off as the other clones rushed to help Rana.

Cyrene knelt by her rage-clone, quickly absorbing her again, followed by the other clones. Breathing hard, Cyrene watched the boys disappear into the distance. Okay. She was okay. Her clones were okay. The boys…

Rana had stabbed one of them. But he wasn't dead. Not yet, at least. But that wasn't her problem. Not now. Right now, she had to get away – in case the boys decided to come back.

She wasn't ready for another fight.

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

They hadn't been ready for a fight.

Simon slowed down as Reese caught up to him, a smaller version of Rory in his arms. "What happened?"

"One of them stabbed him – with his knife," Reese gasped out, laying Rory on the ground. He was bleeding. A lot. Reese's shirt was covered in blood. "The gauze in my pocket," Reese called. "Quickly."

Simon hurriedly sifted through Reese's supplies and pulled at the gauze, but it was already obvious it wasn't going to do much good. They only had one roll – along with the extra pair of socks and the poncho from their packs. Reese quickly wrapped all three around the wound in Rory's chest, but the blood just kept coming, turning the ground red. His breathing was already shallow and gasping, his chest rising and falling erratically. Eventually, even that slowed – and then stopped.

Reese knelt beside him, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have told him to shrink. What if that made him bleed faster? I could probably have carried him. I should have—"

Simon laid a hand on his shoulder. "You did everything you could. More than I did. I just left you two. If I'd stayed…"

"Wouldn't have made a difference," Reese answered quietly. "Neither of us was expecting her to grab the knife. I thought she would let us go. I thought she just wanted to get some water and leave. That's what I would have done."

Simon nodded. "Exactly. That's what you would have done. She wasn't you. And that's not your fault. We can't count on anyone else doing … well, what _you_ would do."

Reese stood up. "She killed him. Just like that. Like he didn't even matter. There was nothing I could do to stop her."

"Reese, it wasn't your fault."

"No. No, it wasn't." He shook his head. "It was hers."

Simon fell silent. He couldn't exactly argue with that. She was the one who had stabbed Rory, after all – or, at least, one of her had. But even blaming her felt … wrong, somehow. She wasn't the one, after all, who had decided to strand them all on an island and tell them to fight to the death. She hadn't written the rules of the Game. She was just playing by them.

Maybe it was time they did the same.

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25**

It hadn't taken as long as she'd thought.

Maria shook her head as she watched the screen. She had thought it would take longer – days, maybe even weeks – for the killing to start. But, all across the island, the contestants were starting to play the Game. Ben, Cassidy, Isadore, Juliska, and Natasha were lying in wait beneath the lake, waiting for Hadley and Rosalind to walk into their trap, with no way of knowing who, exactly, they'd be facing. Taylor and Terry were still hiding beneath their tarp, long after the fox had returned to Jayden, Austin, and Verona. No one else seemed likely to come across them, but they had no way of knowing that. And Cyrene…

She had killed Rory. Well, technically, one of her clones had, but was there a difference? They were part of her, after all. That made her responsible.

Responsible. As if any of the contestants were truly responsible for their actions. Yes, Cyrene had chosen to kill, but she wasn't the one who had put them in that position. Blaming the contestants … that was pointless. They were only doing what they had to in order to survive. They knew the rules. They were just playing by them.

Well, most of them, at least. Austin, Verona, and Jayden seemed content to stay away from the other contestants for now, as did Tariq and Cameron. Monet and Penelope weren't exactly seeking out a fight, either, and neither were Parker and Clara. And Akil and Piper…

Maria glanced over at Ian, who had asked Alvin to turn his collar off when he had brought their lunch. Alvin had obliged, and Ian was now sleeping soundly, perhaps trying to figure out why Piper hadn't woken up, despite Akil's repeated efforts to wake her. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened to Diana. If they'd been sharing a dream when Diana had died, they had no way of knowing what the results might be, or how long Akil would wait around to find out.

That was the hardest part – waiting. Waiting for their contestants to die, all the while being unable to do a thing to change what was happening. She'd known this would be hard, but not _this_ hard. If she'd known this when Nicholas had asked them to coach…

Then what? She had voted against it. Against going along with the MAAB's plan. If she had known how difficult it would be, would she have tried harder to convince the others? Would she have refused to coach, even after their vote?

No. No, she knew the answer to the last question. She would have gone along with Ian and Vincent. Because as hard as it was knowing that most, if not all, of her contestants were going to die, the thought of letting Ian and Vincent go through this alone – that was worse. They were all each other had now – the three of them. They couldn't afford to let go of that.

No matter what.

* * *

" _Still fighting the good fight? From here it doesn't look like they're playing by your rules. Maybe it's time we play by theirs!"_


	22. Insects

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the "favorite alliance" poll are up on the blog. There's also a new poll up on my profile, asking which contestants you _think_ will make the final ten. (Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you _want_ to see in the final ten; that'll be the next poll.) I went with final ten rather than final eight this time because eight is a third of 24, and ten is a third of 30. Also because it felt a bit too early to even _think_ about being down in the single digits. Also, please do actually vote for _ten_ contestants for the final ten. I say it every time, but there's still always that one person who only votes for their own tribute. Drives me nuts. Feel free to vote for your own if you think they'll make the final ten, but I guarantee they won't be the _only_ one in the final ten. Lastly, do **read the chapter first** , because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

* * *

 **Insects**

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51  
** **March 20th, 16:27 AKST**

"So how are you planning to spin this one?"

Judah shook his head as Mack glanced up from the footage he was watching, genuinely confused. "Spin what?"

"Five contestants hiding in a lake to ambush two others because … what? You could say Ky was testing the range of his powers or something. John was being manipulated by one bloodthirsty girl. Rory pulled a knife in his panic, and Cyrene's clones reacted instinctively. But this – this is different. This isn't instinct. It's premeditation. How are you going to explain that without telling the audience that they've been instructed to kill each other?"

Mack grinned. "That's the beauty of it. I don't have to. I just have to show them the evidence, and let them draw their own conclusions. It works better that way. That way, they think they're being clever, think they're being logical, when, really, we're guiding them along just as surely as if we outright _told_ them mutants were bloodthirsty monsters. After all, which seems more probable – that the government kidnapped thirty mutants and set them loose on an island to fight to the death, or that killing is simply in their blood?"

"The first one," Judah mumbled.

Mack shook his head. "That's because you're not afraid of them."

"Should I be?"

"Yes and no. These ones? Almost certainly not. They're safely contained, and most of their powers aren't particularly threatening, even if they weren't. Most of them aren't killers – not yet, at least. But that's not what the audience will see. They won't see teenagers. They'll see killers. Monsters. And they'll be terrified."

"But I still don't understand why—"

Mack sighed. "Look, why don't you just let me do my job, and you can do … what exactly _is_ your job now that the Games have started?"

Judah clenched his teeth. "My job is to contain them in the event that something goes horribly wrong."

"Ah. No wonder you're so tense. But take it easy. Nothing is going to go horribly wrong. The worst thing that's happened so far is a glitch in a few of the cameras, and that's easily fixed. They're contained. They're playing the Game perfectly. We'll have a survivor before you know it. So _relax_."

Just as Judah finally sat down, however, Lillian burst into the room. "You two. Conference room. Now."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Alvin thinks we might have a problem."

"Alvin always thinks there's a problem."

Lillian shook her head. "I think he's right."

* * *

 **Juliska Szekeres, 19**

She hoped Ben was right about how close the other contestants were.

Juliska glanced back and forth from Cassidy to Isadore. They were doing a remarkable job of holding the water up above the group. But how long could they keep it up? If the other contestants didn't arrive soon…

Juliska clenched her fists. It didn't matter. If they didn't arrive soon, the five of them could always call the whole thing off before Cassidy and Isadore got too tired. Maybe that would be for the best. Maybe they weren't coming at all. Maybe they'd decided to go a different way. Maybe they'd figured out that a large body of water would be likely to attract larger groups, and that they – however many of them there were – would likely be outnumbered.

And that was probably true. Unless some of the other groups had banded together, she was already part of the largest group in the arena. They would outnumber anyone who happened to come across their hiding spot. But would _outnumbering_ them necessarily mean being able to _overpower_ them? She wasn't sure.

None of them were, really. But they couldn't hide from a fight forever. Natasha and Isadore, she knew, had wanted to. They'd wanted to run. But they couldn't avoid the other contestants forever. Maybe it was better to give themselves a test now.

A test. That made it sound easier. Safer. As if none of their lives were at stake. But if they took on a more powerful contestant, there was no telling what might happen. Any of them could die.

Suddenly, she felt something. The ground was vibrating beneath their feet. Ben had said before that he had seen the ground shifting. Did that mean the other contestants were getting closer? She thought she could hear voices, muffled through the water. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but they sounded close. Too close. Juliska glanced over at Ben. He shook his head. What was he waiting for? How close was he going to let them get?

Just then, there was a crackling noise. Juliska looked up. The water above their heads was shifting. Freezing. "Ben?" she asked, panicked, but he shook his head. He wasn't freezing the water. Isadore and Cassidy seemed just as confused. The ice started expanding. Lowering closer and closer to their heads. Still, none of the others seemed to know what to do.

Just as the ice was starting to reach the top of her head, Juliska sent a stream of fire up towards it, melting a hole straight through. "Wait!" Cassidy called, but the ice had already begun to melt – and to fall. Before Cassidy and Isadore had a chance to stop it, water gushed down on her as ice fell on the others, a chunk of it landing squarely on Natasha's shoulders.

Ben quickly scooped her up. "Cassidy, Isadore, get us out of here!"

Juliska didn't hear their reply, but she could imagine it. How were they supposed to do that? Juliska sank to her knees, but that didn't stop the water streaming down on top of her. She thought she felt arms around her. Lifting her. Carrying her to the surface. She broke the water before she passed out, but she must have been hallucinating.

She thought she saw a giant fish.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

There was no one on the surface.

Cassidy turned around quickly, her gills retracting and her scales fading as her gaze swept the lake. Finally, she saw them – two figures, running the other way. Part of her wanted to chase after them. But the others were in no condition to do so. They couldn't breathe underwater, and although Isadore was doing his best to hold most of the water back, Ben and Natasha were soaked by the time they sputtered to the surface. But at least they were conscious. Juliska…

Cassidy quickly knelt by her side. She was breathing, but her skin was ice cold. "Ben!" she called, and he hurried over. "We need to warm her up. I think … I think she's going into shock." That was what happened to most people in cold water, wasn't it? Her own body adapted to whatever the water's temperature was, but most of the others didn't seem to be so lucky. If Juliska was conscious, she could probably warm herself up, but now…

Ben knelt down beside her. "Drain the water from her clothes while I warm her up. We need to get her dry. Natasha, Isadore, keep an eye out for anyone else; we don't want to be caught off-guard, especially now." He turned back to her. " _Now_ , Cassidy."

Drain the water. Right. She'd never really tried that before, but it didn't sound so hard. Certainly no harder than holding up an entire lake. Besides, Juliska's life might depend on it. She took a few steps back, trying to focus. Focus on drawing the water to her.

It came in drops at first – flying towards her from the tips of Juliska's sleeves and hair. Ben closed his eyes, focusing on warming Juliska up as Cassidy pulled the water away, wringing it from her clothes. Her hair. Her skin. _You can do this. Focus._ But she was getting so tired. She hadn't realized there would be so much water. It wasn't usually this hard to control. Maybe holding up the lake had drained her more than she'd realized.

Cassidy closed her eyes. That didn't matter now. She could rest later. After she was sure Juliska would be all right…

"Cassidy?" She could barely hear Ben's voice. Her heart was pounding too fast. Her whole body ached. But it would be worth it if she could save Juliska. _Just a little longer, Ben._

"Cassidy!" The urgency in his voice caught her off-guard. What more did he expect her to do? Her eyes flew open, and she staggered backward a little, dizzy. But no one else moved. Ben, Isadore, Natasha – they were all staring. But not at her.

It was Isadore who finally spoke. "Cassidy, what did you _do_?"

She took a step closer, but Isadore shrank away – recoiling, just like Nico had when he'd learned she was a mutant. Cassidy clenched her fists and opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong … but then she looked down. Juliska lay on the ground, completely motionless. At first, Cassidy thought that was good; at least it meant she wasn't shaking anymore. She wasn't cold.

But her skin … it was dry. Too dry. Cassidy knelt down, startled, by her friend's side. "I … I don't know. Ben? What happened? I was just trying to drain the water out of her clothes, and—"

"I think you did," Ben interrupted. "But I think … I think you drained the water out of _her_ , too."

What?

Cassidy staggered to her feet, taking a few steps backwards before collapsing, exhausted. She hadn't meant to do that. She hadn't even known it was possible. "I … I'll put it back," she reasoned. But was _that_ possible? She had to find out.

She summoned the water that had dropped to the ground, but Ben caught hold of her hand. "Cassidy. It's too late. She's gone."

"Gone?"

"It happened too fast. I didn't realize – the others were watching for an attack – I was just trying to warm her up, and you … you were just trying to keep her dry. It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

An accident. Not her fault. Cassidy stared, silent, at her friend's lifeless body. Juliska was dead. That was what Ben was trying to avoid saying. She was dead. It had been an accident. She hadn't meant to. But Juliska was dead.

And it was her fault.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

It was his fault.

Ben wrapped his arms around Cassidy as the pair of them sat silently on the ground, staring at Juliska's body. Juliska was dead. If he hadn't pushed her, if he'd let her wait for a moment and collect her wits before draining the water away, would Juliska still be alive? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe waiting would have killed her, too. There was no way to know for sure.

Natasha was watching silently. She was shivering, too, but maybe she was too scared to ask either of them to do anything about it. But Isadore – he was backing away. Was he getting ready to run? Where would he go? Ben opened his mouth to say something. To try to stop him. But what good would it do? Maria had said not to fight amongst themselves. If Isadore wanted to leave, maybe they should let him.

It was Cassidy who finally met Isadore's gaze. "Please … don't leave. I didn't mean to. I'm not…"

Not what? A killer? A monster? Isadore shook his head. "I know."

But then he turned and ran.

Natasha whirled around. "Isadore! Wait!" But it was too late. He was quickly disappearing into the distance, and none of them had the strength to chase after him. Not now. If he wanted to leave, maybe that was for the best.

But it still didn't feel good.

Ben took a deep breath, slowly – and discreetly – directing some warmth towards Natasha. "I was wrong," he said at last. "We shouldn't have tried to fight someone without knowing what they were capable of. This … it was my fault."

Cassidy shook her head. "I voted to fight, too. And Juliska…"

"She panicked," Ben pointed out. "Brought the ice down. We might have been able to find another way out if…"

"This wasn't her fault," Cassidy insisted. "It was mine. _I_ killed her. I … I don't even know how I _did_ that."

Natasha smiled wryly. "Well, you might want to figure it out, because that … that's a pretty powerful weapon."

One glance at Cassidy told Ben that had been the wrong thing to say, that Cassidy didn't even want to _think_ about using her power like that again. But Natasha was right. It was a good weapon to have on their side.

But only if she could control it. Ben squeezed her shoulder gently. "Don't worry about that right now. Right now, we all need to rest. We still have a long time before…"

He trailed off. _Before this is over._ That was what he'd been about to say. But the Games being over meant more of them would die – all but one, even if they got lucky. Juliska may have been the first of their group to die, but she wouldn't be the last. Isadore hadn't been able to handle that. If any of the others couldn't, either, maybe it was better to know now.

Ben shook his head. He still wasn't quite sure _he_ could handle it. He certainly hadn't acted very rationally. He'd panicked, doling out instructions without even thinking about whether something could go wrong. He would have to do better next time.

They would all have to do better.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

They would have to be more careful.

Hadley finally slowed to a stop as Rosalind panted beside him. "I think we lost them," she gasped.

Lost them. If anyone had even been following them. He'd been trying to ice the lake so that they could look for fish. He'd figured they'd be easier to find if they were frozen. How could he have known there were people _under_ the lake? Had they been hiding there, hoping that he and Rosalind would get some water and leave? Or had it been a trap? Had they walked right into an ambush?

If so, it hadn't turned out so well for the would-be ambushers. He and Rosalind had started running the moment they'd seen the stream of fire melting the ice, but he'd heard screams. More than one person had been under there.

How many of them were left?

Hadley shuddered, the air around him shaking as Rosalind took his hand. "Hey," she whispered. "It's okay. We're okay. We're safe. We're fine."

She was right. For now, at least. But for how long? They'd gotten lucky this time. If they'd gotten a little closer before he'd thought to freeze the fish, would they still be alive? They would have to be careful next time. There was no telling who they might run into.

Hadley let out a deep breath. "I'm glad you're safe." And he was. He was fairly certain his powers could protect him – and would probably do so without much effort – but Rosalind could have been an easy target for anyone hiding under the water waiting to attack them. She would have no way to defend herself, if it weren't for him.

But they had no way of knowing that – whoever had been hiding under there. And he had no way of knowing who they were, either. At least one of them had been able to melt the ice with some fire, and, in order to breathe under there in the first place, maybe one of them could control water. Or maybe it was the same person. Maybe their powers were something like his own. Except they'd certainly seemed to have more control…

It hadn't helped them, though. He was still alive. Rosalind was still alive. He couldn't say the same with certainty about whoever had been under the lake. All in all, things had worked out pretty well.

But what about the next time?

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

What would happen next time?

Cyrene ate another one of her fig bars as she sat by the side of the lake, trying to collect her wits. She was alive. Her clones were fine. But they … they had killed someone. She hadn't told them to do that. Not really. She'd told them to keep watch while she drank some water from the lake. To protect her if anyone attacked.

But the boys hadn't attacked her. They hadn't been trying to hurt anyone. Even the one with the knife had only wanted to leave, along with his allies. But her clones hadn't let him. Cyrene turned the package of fig bars over in her hands. He'd just wanted to live. But her clones had taken that from him.

 _She_ had taken that from him. Her clones were a part of her, after all. Even if they hadn't exactly been following her directions, she was responsible for what they did. Wasn't she? Cyrene stuffed the bars back into her backpack. She'd never really thought about that before. If one of her clones had stolen something, or if they'd caused some other sort of trouble back home, would she have been held responsible?

The question was rather moot, of course, in the arena. The MAAB didn't care who was responsible for the other contestants' deaths, as long as they died. What her clones had done was murder. But she wouldn't be punished for it – and neither would they – because that was what they were here to do. They were here to kill. Her clones had understood that – perhaps even better than she had.

Even better than she _did_.

Cyrene stared out at the water, at the sun that was beginning to set behind the lake. It would be dark soon. She should try to get some rest. But sleeping meant she would have to ask her clones to keep watch. Was she ready for that? Ready to bring them out again?

She'd never imagined that she would be hesitant about something like that. Her clones had always been good company. But Rana had started a fight – a fight that didn't necessarily need to be started just yet. If someone else found them during the night, would Rana wake her in time for them to flee? Or would she want another fight?

And if they had to fight, what were they supposed to fight with? The other boy had been waving a knife, but where had he found it? Had it been in his bag? If so, why had _he_ gotten a knife, when all she'd gotten was some fig bars, a pair of socks, and a lousy whistle?

Okay. Maybe the whistle, at least, would do some good. If one of her clones saw someone coming, they could blow it. Maybe that would be enough to scare the other contestants off. If not, maybe sheer numbers would do it – as long as they didn't get close enough to realize how similar her clones looked. Maybe.

Or maybe no one would come at all. The boys probably wouldn't be coming back. She had no way of knowing who else might be in the area, but the island had looked rather large from above. The other contestants could easily be miles away.

She just hoped they were.

Finally, Cyrene concentrated, and Luna appeared. Maybe not the best choice – she might try to flirt with anyone who came close – but Tira would probably just fall asleep with her, and Rana … Rana had already started one fight. She didn't want another unless it was absolutely necessary. She could always summon Rana later, if Luna saw someone.

She just hoped no one was coming.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

"I don't think anyone's coming."

Terry peeked out from beneath the parachute. The sun was beginning to set. How long had they been hiding? He'd caught himself falling asleep once or twice, but had managed to stay awake. Now he understood why he had been so tired. The day was almost over.

Their first day in the arena.

"They must have decided to go some other way," Taylor agreed as the pair of them crawled out from under the parachute.

Terry shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, I suppose." That was what Samantha would have said. She'd always wanted him to be safe. Always wanted to protect him.

Taylor smirked. "I suppose so. But all but one of us is going to end up being sorry in the end, anyway."

She was right, of course. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about it, but it was only a matter of time before _someone_ found them. Maybe not today. Maybe not even tomorrow or the next day. But, eventually, they wouldn't be able to play it safe anymore. Eventually, they wouldn't be able to hide.

But not yet. For now, they could get some rest. "Why don't you get some sleep," Taylor offered as Terry tried to hide a yawn. "I'll keep an eye out for other contestants."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll wake you when I get tired, and we can trade off."

Terry nodded. That had been the plan, when they'd decided to team up. Take turns sleeping. Stay well-rested and well-fed, so that when the worst happened, they would be ready.

Ready. As if either of them could actually be ready for what had to happen. Three days of training, and he still wasn't sure whether he'd really be able to kill someone. Maybe if his life depended on it. If someone attacked him, and the only way to fend them off was to kill them. Maybe then…

He'd certainly been ready to kill someone when the Sentinels had attacked Samantha. He'd wanted to kill every last one of the people responsible. But the other contestants – they weren't responsible for this. Even the ones who had already killed were only doing what they had to in order to survive. They'd never done anything to him. He didn't want to hurt them.

But he also didn't want to die.

Finally, Terry lay down on the rocky ground and closed his eyes. He could worry about that tomorrow – or if someone found them. Worrying about it now, when there was nothing he could _do_ about it … that was pointless. It wouldn't help either of them. All they could really do was wait – wait and see what they were really willing to do, when the time came.

He wondered how long they would have to wait.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She wondered how many of the others were still alive.

Jayden stroked Snowball's fur as the four of them – three contestants and a fox – watched the sun set in the distance. Their first day in the arena was almost over, but they had no way of knowing how many more days they had. How long the Games would last. Chances were, even the MAAB didn't know. But at least _they_ knew how many of them were left … and how many were dead.

Just as she was about to suggest that they should get some sleep, however, Snowball let out a quiet yip, her nose pointed at the sky. "What is it?" Jayden whispered, but then she saw it. A helicopter, circling the island. "What do you think they're doing?" Jayden whispered. "Didn't they set up cameras so that they can see us?"

It was Verona who came up with the answer. "I think … I think they might be collecting the bodies."

That made sense. There was no telling how long they would be on the island. The MAAB certainly wouldn't want to leave the bodies to rot. The helicopter descended in the distance – on the other side of the island. Did that mean no one had died nearby? Or were they just checking the other side of the island first?

"How many of them do you think are…?" Austin started, but couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. If they were collecting bodies, that meant that some of the others were dead. But how many? And who?

Jayden swallowed hard, holding Snowball close. "I don't know. But we're still alive."

The words rang a bit hollow, though. They were still alive. But they all heard the words she had left unsaid. _We're still alive for now_. How long would that last? How long would it be before they simply couldn't avoid the other contestants anymore? And when it came down to a fight, how could the three of them hope to survive?

They had a fox on their side, of course, but how much good was that really going to do? And Snowball was the largest creature she'd seen so far. There had been a few birds, but it wasn't as if those were going to be much help in a fight. And was it really fair to ask the animals to fight their battles for them?

Jayden shook her head. It wasn't about what was _fair_. None of this was _fair_. If the animals wanted to help them, she wasn't about to refuse. If they didn't, then they were on their own.

Suddenly, the helicopter came whirring back into view, its lights flashing. But instead of descending somewhere in the distance, it hovered right above them, as if waiting. But waiting for what?

Then something dropped – out of the helicopter, landing a little ways away. "What was that?" Verona whispered, but Austin was already darting towards it. Seconds later, he returned with a package, wrapped up almost like a Christmas present. "What is it?" Verona asked, leaping up to get a better look.

"I don't know," Austin admitted. "But it's got Jayden's name on it." He handed her the package. "Go ahead. Open it."

Jayden hesitated. Anything could be in the package. But why would the MAAB give them something that might hurt them? They were supposed to kill each other, after all. They couldn't do that if the package exploded or something. Silently, she ripped away the wrapping, revealing a small box. Inside was a large knife and a piece of paper. She held it up to catch the last few rays of the sun. On the piece of paper was a single number.

"Twenty-five?" Verona asked. "What does twenty-five mean?"

Jayden shook her head. "I think it's the answer to our question."

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

"I think it's the answer to our question."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "What question?"

"We were wondering how many of the others were killed – and how many were left," Jayden reasoned. "I think that's the answer. Twenty-five of us are left."

Verona shook her head. "Twenty-five? You think five people are dead already?"

"I'm not sure what else it would mean," Jayden pointed out. "And there was a boy shooting down parachutes. If those people died, and then a few more … yeah, it might be five."

"But why send us a knife?" Austin asked.

Jayden shrugged. "Maybe they're giving everyone more supplies. Maybe they realized that there are enough of us whose powers wouldn't be much use in a fight. That we're only going to be able to kill if we have a little more help."

 _A little more help._ Whoever had sent the knife, they wanted to help the three of them kill. Did that mean that someone in the MAAB wanted them alive? Did they want one of them to survive the Games? Or was Jayden right about them supplying _everyone_ with more weapons?

Verona shook her head. "What if it means something else?"

"Like what?" Jayden asked.

"What if it's a warning – a warning that someone else is nearby. That we should be getting ready for a fight."

Austin swallowed hard. "If someone else _is_ nearby, we should be getting ready to leave."

Verona glared. " _Again_? How long do you two think we can keep running?"

"Do you really think fighting is a better idea?" Jayden asked quietly. "There are three of us, but…" She left the rest unsaid. There were three of them, but they were three of the youngest mutants in the arena. And their powers weren't exactly suited for fighting. But that didn't seem to bother Verona. At least his power was good for running. And Jayden could ask whatever animals were nearby for help in a pinch. Verona…

Her power wasn't going to be particularly useful in a fight. But it also wouldn't help them escape one. Not really. Was that why she wanted to be ready for a fight? Why she seemed almost eager for one? Was she trying to prove that she could be useful? That she could help them survive, even though her power couldn't?

Austin glanced around at the other two. She didn't have to prove anything to them. They hadn't questioned whether or not she was helping. But maybe _they_ weren't the ones she was trying to prove herself to. Maybe she wanted the MAAB to see that they were willing to cooperate with the Games, that they weren't going to cause any trouble by refusing to fight.

But what good would that do, if they ended up rushing into a fight that would get them killed?

"I think we should wait here for a while," Jayden offered, breaking the tension. "Even if it _is_ a warning, we have no idea which direction the other contestants might be coming from. No way of knowing which way is safe to run. Let's wait. Get some sleep. We can figure out what to do in the morning."

Austin nodded. That sounded good. When Verona offered to take the first watch, he didn't object. He pulled the blanket from his backpack, and he, Jayden, and the fox – which Jayden had decided to call Snowball – settled in beneath it.

He just hoped they made it to morning.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He just hoped he would be able to wake Tariq in the morning.

Cameron closed his eyes as the pair of them settled down for the night. Tariq had offered to take the first watch, and Cameron hadn't really wanted to argue with that. It had been a long day. They still hadn't figured out how to make a good fishing net, but they could figure that out tomorrow. They had time.

As long as they made it to tomorrow.

As long as Tariq didn't slip into a trance and let someone sneak up on them.

He'd thought about offering to take the first watch, but that posed the same problem. If he tried to wake Tariq after a few hours and couldn't, he was stuck in the same position. So he might as well get some rest himself first. If Tariq fell asleep, he fell asleep. If someone was going to find them, it would happen whether they were awake or not. It wasn't as if the pair of them would be able to put up much of a fight, anyway.

Cameron opened his eyes and rolled over a little on the rocky ground. That wasn't exactly the most comforting thought. He had thought, during training, that he was ready for that – for the idea of dying here in the arena. Certainly he had never expected to be the one to make it out alive. But now that they were actually here, it all seemed a bit more real. If he died tonight, that was it. That was it forever.

He wouldn't get another chance.

And he didn't want to die.

But staying awake all night – that wasn't really a better option. They would have to sleep eventually. Wasn't it better to do it now, when most of the others were probably resting, as well?

Probably. That was the assumption they were making – that the others would want to rest, too. That they wouldn't be too eager to start looking for a fight in the dark. And it _was_ getting very dark. There had been stars for a little while, but clouds were beginning to roll in, blocking out any light.

He was used to that, at least. Sundown wasn't a very big town, and it was always dark out on the ranch. No, it wasn't the darkness that bothered him. It was the silence. There didn't seem to be any animals making noise – no crickets, no owls, no coyotes. The last one was a good thing, of course, but it was still terribly – almost painfully – silent.

As if he understood what Cameron's problem was, Tariq began to whisper quietly. At first, Cameron couldn't make out what he was saying, but, finally, he realized it was a prayer. Cameron closed his eyes again and whispered his own prayer – the only prayer that came to mind, one he had prayed before bed with his family for years. "Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Watch over me through all the night, and wake me safe by morning's light. Amen."

Cameron felt something on top of him – one of the parachutes, he realized, to keep out the cold. "Amen," Tariq agreed. "Good night, Cameron."

Cameron barely had the energy left to mumble, "Good night."

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

"Maybe we should call it a night."

John nodded his agreement. He hadn't wanted to admit just how tired he was, but it was getting too dark to see where the rocks were. They were nearly halfway up the mountain – or, at least, that was his best guess in the dark. They would probably be safe there for a while. Chances were, none of the others would want to climb a _mountain._

He'd thought about changing back into a bear. Maybe that would have made the climb a little easier. But something had stopped him. Maybe it was the memory of what he had done the last time he'd become a bear. He'd killed Ryden. Sunk his teeth deep into the boy's neck. He didn't want to do that again. He didn't even want to remember it.

But it had happened. And he hadn't been able to stop himself. He hadn't _wanted_ to stop himself. What if that happened again? What if he couldn't control it? What if he accidentally hurt someone he didn't _want_ to?

What if he hurt Victoria?

Maybe that thought shouldn't have bothered him so much. After all, Victoria would have to die eventually. But he didn't want to be the one to do it – not when she had saved his life. She could have left him to be killed by Ryden, but she hadn't. She had helped him. Saved him. He owed her for that.

Didn't he?

But _what_ did he owe her? Not her life, surely. Not forever. He couldn't let her survive the Games, because that meant _he_ would have to die. And he wanted to live. He wanted to be the one to make it out alive.

If he didn't owe her that, though, then maybe he owed it to her to stay with her as long as he could. That seemed like a more reasonable option. He would protect her as long as he could. They would stay together as long as they could. But eventually…

John finally took a seat on the rocky ground. He didn't want to think about that. Maybe Victoria didn't, either. She'd been silent for most of their trek up the mountain. "I'll take the first watch," John offered as they ate some of their crackers and raisins, along with some of the dried apples they'd taken from the boy. The boy he'd killed. John shook his head. "I don't think I'd be able to sleep, anyway."

That much was certainly true. He was tired, yes – physically, at least – but he didn't want to sleep. Not yet. He didn't want to imagine what his dreams might hold, now that…

Now that he was a killer. There was no avoiding it. There was blood on his hands. Physically, the sweat from their hike up the mountain had washed away most of the blood. But he could still feel it. He could still smell it.

Maybe he always would.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

Maybe they would have better luck in the morning.

Clara watched Parker silently as the pair of them settled down for the night. They'd spread out their parachutes to use as a bed, but the ground was still hard and rocky, and it was getting cold. Clara had offered to take the first watch, but she was already regretting it. Even snuggling up inside a parachute was starting to sound better than sitting out in the open.

But maybe the cold would keep her awake. They had to be on their guard, after all. She had been counting on having three of them to trade watches; now they were down to two. If anyone else died…

If _she_ died, of course, it wouldn't be her problem to deal with. But if Parker died, she would be alone. She had thought, after it was clear that John would no longer want to work with her, that she would be okay on her own. She hadn't realized just how much she'd been counting on Ryden and Parker's help.

"Try to relax," Parker suggested. "We'll be okay for tonight."

Right. Try to relax. Even Parker's powers couldn't do much to ease the tension, the anxiousness that seemed to be in the air itself. Maybe that was because Parker was nervous, too. Afraid of what might happen if she closed her eyes. But, finally, she did close them, and her breathing grew slower, calmer. Clara smiled a little. If Parker could sleep, then maybe she would be able to, as well.

But not yet. Parker had asked her to wake her to trade shifts after a few hours, but they had no real way of measuring time. Even if she'd had a watch, she doubted she'd be able to see it very well in the dark. The clouds seemed to be growing thicker. She just hoped it wouldn't snow.

They could always take shelter beneath the parachute if it did. But snow would make it harder for them to hide their tracks. Harder to avoid being seen. Their outfits were relatively well-camouflaged with the rocks and shrubbery, but would stand out pretty sharply against snow. And how would they keep warm? There were matches in her bag, but they were useless without something to light, and snow would make everything wet.

 _Try to relax._

Clara clenched her fists. She didn't _want_ to relax. If she started to relax, if she let her guard down, it would make it that much easier for someone else to sneak up on her. As it was, she could probably stop anyone from getting too close – as long as she saw them soon enough. But would she? Would she even hear them? What good would staying awake do if she couldn't even tell whether anyone was coming?

The wind started to pick up a little, and Clara pulled her jacket tighter. Her eyelids were starting to droop. But she had to stay awake. Her life might depend on it. Parker's life might depend on it. They'd already lost Ryden. She didn't want to lose anyone else.

And she certainly didn't want to die.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

Diana was dead.

Piper took a step back, still not quite believing what Ian had written on his pad of paper. The pad of paper that _Diana_ had given him. She was standing right there next to them. How could he say that she was dead?

Diana seemed just as surprised. She waved a hand, and words appeared in the fog that surrounded them in the dreamland. _Are you sure?_

Ian nodded. There was no reason for him to lie. Diana took a step closer. _Then how am I still here?_

Ian scribbled on his notepad. _I don't know. Does anything feel different?_

Diana waved her hand again. _A bit colder. Just figured the island was cold._

 _So it doesn't hurt?_

 _No. Not for a while. Not since…_ The words stopped for a moment.

Ian nodded. _Not since when?_

 _Since a little after Piper fell asleep._

Piper froze. Did that mean that Diana had died only a little while after she had fallen asleep? Did that mean…?

Piper snatched the pad and pen from Ian's hand and scribbled four words. _Did Akil kill her?_

Ian didn't answer. He didn't need to. The fact that he was hesitating told her what she needed to know. But, at last, he nodded.

Piper turned to Diana, expecting some sort of reaction. But Diana said nothing. No words appeared. Ian took his pad and pen back. _There was nothing they could do to save you. I'm sorry. The helicopter already came and collected your body._

Her body. Piper shook her head. It still didn't seem real. Diana was _here_. How could she be dead and still be alive in the dreamland? Piper held out her hand for the pen, which Ian quickly gave her. _What do we do now?_ She handed it back.

Ian hesitated a moment before answering. _I don't know. But you might want to wake up soon._ He didn't have to explain why. If Akil had killed Diana, would he kill her, too, if he thought she wasn't going to wake up? Or would he simply leave? Had he already left? How long had she been asleep?

Piper turned to Diana, who took her hand and squeezed it, nodding her agreement with Ian. _Go. Wake up. I'll still be here when you fall asleep again._

But would she? How long could she live in the dreamland if her body was dead? But it was pointless to ask; there was no way she could possibly know, either. And Piper could already feel the dream beginning to fade.

"Piper?" a voice called. "Piper, can you hear me?"

Akil. He was still there. Piper slowly opened her eyes. "Akil. Diana … she's—"

"Dead," Akil finished. "Piper, I'm sorry, but—"

"No. No, you don't understand. She's … she's still in there. In the dreamland. She's dead, but … but she's not."

Akil's face turned pale. "You mean … she's trapped in there?"

Maybe. Maybe she was. Maybe she always would be. "I don't know," Piper admitted. "I don't think _she_ knows. There's no way any of us could have known what would happen if…"

"I killed her," Akil interrupted. "Piper, I killed her, but I didn't mean to … I didn't mean to trap her forever in there."

"You didn't know. You _couldn't_ have known." She wanted to yell at him. To blame him for killing their friend. But he was so upset. And shouting wouldn't change anything. Begging to know why he'd done it wouldn't change anything. She _knew_ why he had done it. She just hadn't been able to agree.

She hadn't even asked Diana what she'd gone to sleep to ask – whether that was what she would want. She had still been stalling when Ian had appeared. And now … now the question was pointless. It didn't matter what Diana wanted. It didn't matter what any of them wanted.

Maybe it never had.

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

Maybe now they had a chance.

Ian turned to Diana as Piper disappeared, then began scribbling quickly on his pad of paper. _There's something else I want to ask you. Something you can do._ When Diana raised an eyebrow, he continued. _I didn't want to ask you before. Didn't want to put you at risk. Knew the MAAB could just turn your collar on if they suspected something._

But now her collar wouldn't do any good. They couldn't stop her from doing whatever she wanted. Not here, in the dreamland. Here, her control was practically absolute. _Can you find people in here – anyone you want?_

Diana nodded. _I can try. If they're asleep, I should be able to._ There were tears in her eyes. _I should tell my parents. They deserve to know._

 _Yes,_ Ian agreed. _They do. Tell them. Tell them everything you can. You're our only link to the outside world. If you can get a message to them, word might get out about what's going on here._ Word wouldn't spread in time to save her, but the others…

Probably not. The Games were already moving faster than any of them had thought. But there was something else they could do. Something else _she_ could do. _After you contact your parents, can you find someone for me?_

 _I can try. Who is it? The president? The news?_

Not a bad idea, really. But the president already knew, he was certain. And the news … what would they say? That a girl in a dream had told them that mutants were fighting to the death on an island in Alaska?

Ian shook his head, then wrote three words. _His name's Erik._

 _How do I find him?_

 _How do you usually find people?_

 _I usually know who I'm_ looking _for. I can recognize my parents. My brother. My friends. But someone I don't know?_

Fair enough. He hesitated a moment before writing again. But only a moment. Where was the harm in telling her? _Do you remember the incident at Liberty Island during the UN summit? Erik Lehnsherr – his face was all over the news._

Diana's eyebrows shot up. So she _did_ recognize the name. _You want me to find you a terrorist? Why?_

It was a reasonable question. The same question he'd wanted to ask when Vincent had revealed Professor Xavier's last message. Ian scribbled a little more. _Because he can help us._

He just hoped that was true.

* * *

" _You are a god among insects. Never let anyone tell you different."_


	23. Anger

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final ten" poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Anger  
**

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 74  
March 20th, 22:03 AKST**

"How could we have missed this?"

Hans shook his head. It should have been obvious that the girl could use her power to communicate with the outside world. It was only a matter of time before the coaches decided to take advantage of that. But it was only after Ian had asked Alvin to turn his collar on that they'd pieced together what must have happened. Diana was still alive.

Or, at least, some part of her was – some part that still existed in her dreams. Her body was dead; they were certain of that. They'd collected it, examined it for any sign of what might be happening. But it was now in the morgue downstairs along with the others. Five dead bodies. The Games were proceeding as expected. But if the coaches could use Diana to contact people elsewhere…

Alvin shrugged, leaning back in his chair and stifling a yawn. "We didn't miss it. We discounted it. We knew communication through her dreams was a possibility, but we were counting on the idea that, if she tried anything, we could simply turn her collar on and prevent her from manipulating her dreams. But since I assume you've tried that…" He turned to Hans.

Hans nodded. "Of course. But, shockingly enough, the collars have no effect on a corpse."

Alvin snickered a little. "I warned you."

Hans glared. "Bullshit. You had no more idea than the rest of us did."

"Not about the specifics, no. But I warned you that there would be unintended results. Unpredictable consequences. And here we are. A dead contestant has the ability to communicate with anyone in the world – and we have no way to stop her."

Mack shook his head. "I don't think it's as bad as all that. I mean, who's she going to tell? The government already knows. It's not as if we're operating in secret here. And who else will believe a girl they saw in their dreams? Sure, she can communicate with them, but she can't force them to believe her."

Judah shook his head. "I don't think _she's_ our biggest problem."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

"What if the _coaches_ ask her to communicate with someone else on their behalf? We don't know who else might have escaped the raid on the school. If they can send some sort of message – a call for help – we could have a mutant attack to worry about, on top of what's happening in the Games. We don't know _who_ they might contact."

Nicholas nodded. "What do you suggest?"

Judah leaned forward a little in his chair. "We should wake Ian up, for starters. Turn his collar off. And I've been saying all along that we should keep Vincent's _on_. Who knows what he's been telling them without us knowing it? I've suggested before that we should separate them, as well. And we should keep them awake."

Francine shrugged. "How? We can turn Ian's collar off, and he won't fall asleep, but what about the other two?"

"There are other means we can use," Judah answered vaguely. "Techniques that would suffice until the Games are over and they can be moved to a more secure location."

Alvin rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't do any good. The damage has been done. Whatever they told Diana, she probably has enough information to act on her own … and we have no way to stop her."

"Not with force," Lillian agreed, "but perhaps we can persuade her."

"How?"

Lillian turned to Nicholas. "Do you still have her family's address?"

Nicholas chuckled. "Is that even a question? My records are quite thorough."

Francine's face was pale. "You're not thinking of harming her family."

Lillian shook her head. "I don't think we'll have to. Even threatening to would probably be enough to persuade her not to do … well, whatever it is the coaches have asked her to do."

Mack shrugged. "We're assuming they've asked her to do _anything_. They couldn't have known she would still be alive in her dreams. They didn't plan for this – no more than we did."

Alvin shook his head. "No, but they do have one advantage. They don't have to _make_ something happen. They only have to _stop_ something from happening. That's always easier. If they can disrupt the Games long enough—"

"Then don't let them," Hans offered. "Speed the Games up. There has to be some way to get things moving a bit faster."

"Not safely," Alvin insisted.

Hans scoffed. "You've been saying all along that _none_ of this is safe, right? That it's all a terrible, doomed idea."

"It is."

"Then where's the harm in making it go a little faster?"

Alvin closed his eyes. "You, sir, are an idiot. If your house is burning down, do you pour gasoline on it to make it burn faster?"

Mack shrugged. "You do if you set it on fire to conceal evidence of something else. We can throw around metaphors all day, but the question is, can you do it?"

"Of course I can." He leaned back a little more. "But if I may offer some advice that you'll probably ignore, we shouldn't act too rashly – not unless we have reason to believe some sort of attack is imminent. These Games are a scientific experiment. When you rush science, things tend to go wrong. Very wrong."

"Things have already gone wrong," Nicholas pointed out. "Go wake up Ian and turn Vincent's collar on. But leave them together. As long as we know what they're telling each other, they're not a threat."

"And if the others fall asleep?" Judah asked.

"I'll take care of that," Nicholas assured him. "But I have a few calls to make first. Oh, and Hans?"

"Yes?"

"There were a few hiccups, but our doctor should be arriving soon. She's been briefed, but I'd like someone to meet her when she arrives. Someone who knows the ropes."

 _Someone I trust._ He hadn't said it, but he might as well have. Hans nodded. "I'm on it." At least he could do something to help. All this talk about dreams and mutant attacks and secret plans – it was a bit too much.

When had everything become so complicated?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

Everything seemed so much more complicated now.

Verona shook her head as the others huddled under Austin's blanket, finally sleeping soundly despite the fact that it seemed to be growing colder by the minute. It was dark, too – darker than she was used to. There were always lights in her neighborhood, always some sort of noise. Sometimes that noise was gunshots, but even that would be better than the silence. At least if there was noise – even terrible noise – she would have some idea of what was going on.

But they _did_ have some idea – and that was the problem. Because if the note meant what Jayden thought it meant – if there were only twenty-five of them left – then the Games were moving faster than any of them had thought. And that made things more complicated. If a sixth of them were already gone, how long would the three of them be able to avoid taking action? How long would the three of them be able to stay _together_?

Verona pulled her jacket tighter. She was getting ahead of herself. It was only the first day. Well, the first _night_. She didn't need to think about leaving the others yet. Even if five of the contestants were already dead, that still left twenty-five of them. Maybe none of their powers were anything that would be particularly useful in a fight, but surely the three of them had a better chance together, if it actually came down to a fight.

 _When_ it came down to a fight. There was no 'if.' Not really. Not if they wanted to survive. Not if _she_ wanted to survive. There wasn't really a question of whether they would have to act. It was only a question of when.

The others didn't understand that. Not really. Not yet. Maybe they thought the other contestants would be reluctant to fight them because of their age. Maybe they thought they would be able to avoid being noticed long enough for most of the other contestants to kill each other off. And maybe they were right. But even then, it was only a matter of time.

Verona tucked her knees to her chest as the wind began to pick up. Then she felt something – something cold. Snow. Verona gently shook the others awake. "It's snowing."

Quickly, the three of them removed the parachutes from their pack and draped them one over another, with their backpacks holding the top ones up a little. Once their makeshift tent was assembled, they stuffed the blanket inside, Austin and Jayden huddling together. "Come on in," Austin insisted. "No point in staying out there in the cold."

Verona shook her head. "Someone has to keep watch. You can't see anything from in there."

"You can't see anyone, anyway," Austin pointed out. "It's too dark. No one's going to want to go anywhere now that it's snowing, anyway. Let's all get some sleep, and we'll figure out what to do next in the morning."

 _What to do next._ Where to _go_ next was what he really meant. It was clear that he wanted to keep moving. Keep running. But was that a good idea, now that the snow would allow anyone to see where they'd been? Moving around would just mean they'd leave more of a trail.

Verona yawned as she crawled under the blanket with the other two and Snowball. That discussion could wait until the morning. Right now, Austin was right; they might as well get some sleep while they could. They could put off making a decision for a little while yet.

But they couldn't put it off forever.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

They couldn't keep moving forever.

Reese glanced over at Simon as the pair of them continued to trudge through the snow. It wasn't very deep yet, but it was cold, and the wind was making it even worse. But Simon seemed determined to put as much distance as possible between them and the girl who had killed Rory.

But what good would it do? If she really wanted to follow them, their tracks would make it easy enough, regardless of how fast they were going. Eventually, they would have to stop to rest. They couldn't keep going like this forever.

Neither could she, of course. If she was, in fact, following them, then she would have to rest, too. Wouldn't she? Maybe. They had no way of knowing whether her duplicates could keep going without rest, or how far they could stray from her. One of them could be following them while the rest stayed with her at the lake.

Reese stifled a yawn, but Simon noticed. "Tired?"

Reese nodded reluctantly. A few hours ago, he had been angry. Furious, even. Now, he was just tired. Too tired to be angry. "A bit," Reese admitted.

"Me, too," Simon agreed. Maybe he had just been waiting for Reese to be the first one to say it. "Let's see if we can make some sort of … something with these parachutes, I guess."

Not a bad idea. Making something, however, quickly amounted to spreading the parachutes on the ground and crawling on top of one and under the other two. Maybe that would be enough to keep them warm. He certainly hoped so. Freezing to death didn't sound like a great way to go.

Not that there were too many _good_ ways to go. Maybe freezing would be better than some of the alternatives. Better than what had happened to Rory. Reese huddled closer to Simon, tucking the edges of the parachute beneath them to hold them in place as the wind picked up again. It was a bit warmer inside the parachutes, but it wouldn't be much protection if someone happened to find them.

Then again, he doubted anyone would be out looking for a fight in this weather. Not unless their power happened to involve some way to keep themselves warm. Even then, fighting wouldn't be the first thing on his mind.

Maybe that was the problem. Fighting hadn't been the first thing on their minds when they'd seen the girl coming towards the lake. They'd wanted to hide, and then to run. None of them had thought about fighting until it was too late.

They couldn't afford to make the same mistake again.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

They couldn't afford to make the same mistake again.

Natasha huddled closer to Ben as the three of them stared out into the darkness around the lake. The helicopters had come to collect Juliska's body, but that hadn't really helped. Aside from a few words while preparing some of the fish they'd caught earlier, Ben and Cassidy had been silent. Natasha had tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but even those attempts had been rather half-hearted. None of them felt like talking.

But they all knew what they had to do.

They had to do better. Ben's plan had seemed like a good one, but it hadn't been good enough. They hadn't accounted for what they might be facing. They would have to be more careful next time – especially now that two of them were gone.

Gone. Juliska was dead. And Isadore … no, he probably wasn't coming back. If he was going to, he would have done it by now, wouldn't he? Surely he would have wanted to come back before dark, if he was planning to at all. She wasn't sure where he was planning to go, especially since he had left his backpack behind, but she understood the desire to run. To get away. What Cassidy had done … it was terrifying. But it was also amazing.

Cassidy certainly didn't see it that way. Natasha had caught glancing at her hands a few times, horrified by what she'd done. And certainly it would have been better if she had done it to someone else. Someone who _hadn't_ been working with them. But, right now, Natasha was simply glad it hadn't been her.

It _had_ been her, however, who had been hit with a chunk of ice as the lake had collapsed on them. Ben, too, seemed to be trying not to move, wincing a little as he kept their little fire going. They'd managed to find enough twigs from the shrubs to get a fire going, and Ben could heat it enough to keep it burning for a while, but without Juliska…

Natasha shook the thought from her head. She should be grateful they still had Ben. Ben could keep them warm. Cassidy could manipulate the snow enough to keep it from falling directly on them. That would have to be good enough for now.

But the three of them couldn't stay awake forever. "Maybe you should get some sleep," Ben suggested at last, turning to Natasha. Natasha nodded a little. It made sense. Her powers weren't particularly useful at the moment, so she might as well get some rest. Maybe once Cassidy decided she needed some sleep, Natasha could try to levitate the snow enough to keep it off them. Right now, though, she just wanted some rest.

And the snow didn't seem particularly threatening at the moment. Even off to the side, where it was actually falling, it didn't seem to be getting deep. Just a light dusting. Just enough to cover the ground, to let the contestants see where the others had gone. It couldn't have worked out better if the MAAB had planned it that way.

They hadn't, of course. They couldn't control the weather. But things were working out in their favor, nonetheless. Juliska was dead. Their group – the largest in the arena – had already begun to break apart. And if _they_ were beginning to separate, it was only a matter of time before the others did, as well.

At least Isadore had left peacefully. That had been Maria's suggestion from the start – that, if they were going to split up, they should do so without a fight. Maybe they should have been grateful for that, at least.

But she was too tired to be grateful for anything. Natasha didn't bother trying to hide a yawn as she settled down on the ground, tucking her backpack beneath her head. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but it would have to do for now.

They didn't really have any other options.

* * *

 **Ky Snowdon, 18**

He didn't really have any other options.

Ky stretched his arms as he made his way along the edge of the cliff. It had started to snow, but that wasn't a problem. Not really. He was used to the cold – and to the dark. Even in the pitch black, he could still tell where he was going. There was no danger in traveling at night – and maybe some sort of advantage, if he happened to find something.

Or some _one_. Ky clenched his fists tightly. What would happen if he _did_ find someone else? When the other contestants were in the air, without the use of their powers, he'd had a distinct advantage. But here, on the ground, the odds were a little different – a little more even. Did he dare attack, without knowing whether the other person would be able to put up a fight?

Ky shook his head. He didn't have a choice. Not really. Everyone else on the island would have to die eventually. Eventually, he would have to be ready to face any of them. So maybe it was better to find out now whether or not he could take on someone who might actually pose a challenge.

The whole question was moot, of course, unless he managed to find someone, and he hadn't seen anyone since the start of the Games. How were they supposed to find each other, anyway? It was a big island. Even if the contestants _wanted_ to kill each other quickly, they might not be able to. The others would probably be hiding from the snow somewhere, but where? He hadn't seen any trees, any caves, any sort of shelter, really. There wouldn't be many places for the other contestants to hide.

But, by the same token, there wouldn't be many places for _him_ to hide when the time came to get some sleep. He couldn't keep going forever, after all. He'd been hoping to find a way down the cliff – somewhere that might be less steep – but, so far, he hadn't had any luck. It was only a matter of time before he would have to rest _somewhere_.

Ky pulled his jacket tighter. Not yet. He could keep going a bit longer. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, but it was only a matter of time before he found _something._ Wasn't it?

Just then, he heard it – something in the distance. A faint rustling of some sort. A parachute, maybe. Maybe someone was trying to build some sort of shelter. Not a bad idea, really, if they'd decided to settle down for the night. But it was just enough noise for him to follow…

As silently as he could, Ky crept forward in the dark. Finally, he could see them. Two of them. An older contestant and a younger one, setting up their parachutes into a sort of tent. Ky took a deep breath. If he could take out the older one first, the younger one might be surprised long enough to stay put. Maybe. But could he really deal with either of them that quickly?

Ky concentrated, wisps of darkness beginning to swirl around his hands. He would have to. There was no choice now – not now that he'd found them. The MAAB would be expecting him to attack. He had to follow their instructions if he wanted to make it out of the arena alive.

As quickly as he could, he sent a tendril flying towards the older contestant.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She saw it coming before Monet did.

Or, rather, it was what she _didn't_ see. An area in the distance where she couldn't see the snow falling, where the darkness seemed a little more … complete, maybe. A little more tangible. That was enough to alert her. Something was off. Something was wrong.

Instinctively, she threw herself between the dark patch and Monet – and just in time. A tendril of darkness came flying towards her, striking her full-force. Or, at least, she assumed it was full-force. She barely felt it. She could hear Monet scream, but there wasn't any danger. Not really.

"Shit!" came a voice from the darkness. But instead of running, the boy tried again. Another tendril struck her, and then another. Why wasn't he running?

Why wasn't _she_ attacking?

Penelope clenched her fists. The boy was clearly trying to kill her. And if this was the same boy who had shot down Rachel…

That seemed likely. The chances of there being _two_ contestants who could control darkness seemed like a long shot. The boy had killed Rachel. He was trying to kill them. He didn't have any real chance of hurting her, at least, but, still…

 _Okay, then._

"Get down," Penelope called to Monet, but they were already crouched on the ground, watching with something between fascination and terror. Penelope took a step closer to the boy, who still didn't have the sense to run. Maybe he didn't realize. Maybe he thought she was simply deflecting his energy. Maybe he didn't know that she was absorbing it – or what she could do with it.

Or maybe he'd realized that running wouldn't do him any good.

Penelope quickly knelt down and slammed her fist down on the ground, channeling the energy forward – away from her and Monet. The ground rippled as the energy surged through it, knocking the boy off his feet. Penelope raced forward as he struggled to his knees, the darkness lashing out at her once more, desperately. Penelope quickly caught hold of his wrist as he reached up to strike her. She squeezed.

That was all it took. The boy's body shook violently for a moment, but then went completely still. Penelope took a step back as Monet crept forward to join her. She could have done more. Could have completely vaporized the boy's body. But she didn't need to. And she certainly wasn't going to give them footage of her behaving any more brutally than she had to. The jolt of energy she'd given him had been enough to stop his heart. That would suffice.

Penelope glanced back at Monet, who was staring, their eyes wide. But they didn't run. Didn't shrink away as Penelope took a step towards them. "Are you all right?" Penelope asked quietly.

For a moment, Monet didn't answer. Couldn't answer, maybe. But, at last, they nodded.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

"Thank you."

Monet took a step towards Penelope, who still looked perplexed. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting thanks for what she had done. Monet shook their head. "You saved my life. You stepped in the way of that boy's … whatever it was. The darkness. He was trying to kill me, and you…"

Penelope shook her head. "I just absorbed the energy. I was never in danger."

Monet smiled a little. "Maybe not, but thank you, anyway. You didn't have to save me."

"I'm just glad I could," Penelope pointed out. "When he shot Rachel down, I … there was nothing I could do. This time, there was. That's all."

Monet glanced down at the boy's body. How could Penelope be so calm? Maybe she hadn't been in any real danger, but the boy had been trying to _kill_ them. "What did you do to him?" Monet asked quietly. He didn't appear to be injured, but he was completely motionless, nonetheless, and Penelope seemed confident that he was dead.

"I absorbed the energy he was using to attack me and directed it back at him in one burst," Penelope explained. "Stopped his heart."

Monet nodded. "Like you were trying to do for Rachel, except…"

"Except stronger," Penelope agreed. "And except the fact that it actually _worked_."

It worked. She said it so casually. Like it hadn't taken any effort at all. Maybe it hadn't. She certainly didn't seem tired or even winded. "Maybe we should get out of here," Monet suggested. "What you did to the ground – someone might notice that. Someone might have heard it." There had been a cracking noise when she'd channeled the energy into the ground. If someone decided to follow the noise...

Penelope shook her head. "If you heard that sort of noise, is that something you would want to go _towards_?"

She had a point. "So you think we're safe here?" Monet asked.

Penelope shrugged. "As safe as we are anywhere, I suppose."

Monet nodded. As safe as they were anywhere. A few hours ago, they wouldn't have thought they would feel safe anywhere on the island. But now…

Everything was different. Monet had thought they'd seen what Penelope was capable of during training. But this … they had never imagined this. And they _did_ feel safe. If Penelope had wanted them dead, after all, she could have simply let the darkness hit them _before_ attacking the boy. Instead, she'd stepped in the way. Saved Monet's life.

Monet smiled a little as the pair of them headed back to their makeshift tent. It felt a little strange – relying on a twelve-year-old protection. But they'd known since they'd teamed up that Penelope's powers were stronger than their own. Certainly more destructive, more dangerous. The boy who'd attacked them had underestimated Penelope, and aimed for Monet, instead. If other contestants continued to do the same, continued to underestimate them, then maybe they actually had a chance.

Maybe they actually _were_ safe.

* * *

 **Isadore Douglas, 15**

He would have to find somewhere safe to rest soon.

Isadore rubbed his eyes as he stumbled forward in the dark. The snow had started a little while ago. It wasn't very deep, but it was cold, and the wind was getting stronger. Isadore pulled his jacket tighter. In his hurry to get away from the others, he'd left his backpack behind. He had nothing but the clothes on his back – and those weren't very warm. He had no food. Water shouldn't be too hard – not with the amount of snow that was falling – but if he didn't find something to eat soon, he would have to go back.

No. No, he couldn't go back. Not because he was afraid of the others. No, after having time to think it over, he knew it wasn't Cassidy's fault. She hadn't meant to kill Juliska. She'd meant to help, and had simply lost control. It could have happened to any of them. It could even have happened to _him_.

Not, he wasn't afraid that they would hurt him – or even that they wouldn't let him back into their group. They almost certainly would, especially now that Juliska was dead. They would probably be happy to have him back.

But there was a more important reason he couldn't go back. They knew now. They knew he couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle what they were here to do. He'd thought that he could. That, when the time came, he would be able to work with them, to fight, to kill. But he couldn't. He hadn't. He and Cassidy hadn't been able to keep the water in the lake back. And when Juliska had died, he had run. He'd been terrified. They knew now.

They knew he couldn't handle death.

But it wasn't the thought of his own death that scared him – not now. It was theirs. If he wanted to win, Juliska wasn't the only one who would have to die. Ben and Natasha would have to die. _Cassidy_ would have to die.

And he couldn't stand the thought of being there when they did. Of watching, unable to do anything, when someone _killed_ them. Better to get as far away from them as he could. That way, when they died, he wouldn't have to watch. He wouldn't have to know.

And they would have no way of knowing if he died.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

They had no way of knowing whether anyone had died.

Parker and Clara exchanged a glance as the pair of them huddled under their parachutes. There had been a noise a little while ago – the sound of something cracking. It sounded like it had come from off to the left. But they had no way of knowing who was over there. No way of knowing what had made that noise, and who – if anyone – had died.

She wanted to run. To suggest that they should pack up and leave. But what good would that do? If someone happened to come this way, they would either find the pair of them hiding under a parachute – or they would find tracks leading away. Neither of those was a good option, so they might as well stay where it was relatively warm.

Not comfortably warm, certainly. Clara had a box of matches in her backpack, but they didn't really have anything that would burn – certainly nothing that would burn well in this wind. The wind was the worst part, really. There was nothing to block it. No trees, no hills, no buildings. Maybe the MAAB hadn't been thinking when they'd chosen a treeless, featureless wasteland for their Games.

Or maybe they _had_. Maybe this was exactly what they'd intended. Maybe they _wanted_ the contestants to be cold and miserable. Maybe they thought that tired, frustrated contestants would be more likely to kill just so that they could go home sooner, so that they could get away from the cold and the wind.

If that was the idea, though, it didn't seem to be working. She and Clara were still huddled under their parachute. Yes, she wanted to go home, but that wasn't enough to make hunting for other contestants in a snowstorm seem like a good idea. Whatever they were going to do, it could wait until morning. Until the snow stopped. Until they were ready to keep moving.

But even once the weather cleared up a bit, would moving around be a good idea? Leaving meant they would leave tracks, which didn't seem good. But they weren't likely to find any food or water if they stayed in the same spot, and it was only a matter of time before the cookies and fig bars from their backpacks ran out. As for water, they might be able to find a way to melt the snow, but if it stopped snowing, they would eventually have to venture away from their little hideout.

Parker closed her eyes. They could worry about that in the morning. For now, sleeping seemed like the best way to deal with the cold. They'd started the night wanting to trade shifts watching for other contestants, but once the snow had started, they'd quickly abandoned that idea. They couldn't see much from their position under their parachute, anyway, and it didn't seem likely that anyone else would be out hunting in the cold and the snow. But she still hadn't been able to get any sleep. If they were wrong…

If they were wrong, then they would probably die. Anyone who wanted to be out hunting despite the snow probably had some pretty impressive powers, while she had … well, she had a pocketknife, but what good was that going to do unless the other person got close enough? Clara's abilities were certainly more impressive, but she was sleeping soundly. If they didn't see the other contestants coming, they might be able to kill both of them before she knew what hit them.

Parker took a deep breath. Maybe that was a good thing. If she was going to die, maybe it was better for it to happen quickly. She didn't _want_ to die, but dying in her sleep … there were worse ways to go. If she simply never woke up, if she never knew who had killed her, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Maybe that was the best they could hope for.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

Maybe this was the best place they could have picked to stop.

Victoria and John huddled together, hidden from the snow by their parachutes – one on top of them, the other below. But it was the mountain that was really doing the most to protect them, shielding them from the worst of the wind. Maybe their long trek up the mountain hadn't been such a bad idea, after all. In order to find their trail, contestants would have to climb up the mountain in exactly the right spot; they weren't likely to happen upon their trail by chance. That gave them a huge advantage.

But, by the same token, they weren't likely to find any other contestants to fight – unless another group had been thinking the same thing. If they found another group waiting for them at the top of the mountain, then what? Anyone who thought climbing a mountain was a viable option probably had some pretty impressive powers at their disposal. Would she and John really stand a chance against them in a fight? They'd been able to kill Ryden, yes, but he had been one contestant. One person. Would they really do as well against a larger group?

Then again, how many larger groups _were_ there? Ryden had been part of a group of three, but they were now down to two. There was a larger group of five, she knew, but how many of them were left? There had to be some way of finding out – of figuring out who was left, and who was dead. But how?

Victoria shook her head and snuggled a little closer to John, who was already sleeping soundly. Not that he had much of a say in the matter. She'd told him to get some sleep, after all. She needed him to be well-rested for tomorrow, and didn't have time for him worrying about what might happen or fretting over what he'd done. He'd only done what she'd told him to do, but she couldn't reveal that.

And what he'd done had been necessary, after all. Ryden's death had been necessary. Whether it had happened then or a few days from now didn't really matter. He was dead. And they were still alive. _She_ was still alive. That was all that mattered.

Victoria closed her eyes. She was still alive. For now, that would have to be enough. She was alive. They were safe – or, at least, as safe as they could hope to be. Surely none of the other contestants would be stupid enough to try to climb the mountain in a snowstorm. Especially in the dark. They would probably be safe there for the night.

Probably. That was the problem. Their safety hinged on what the other contestants would _probably_ do. There _probably_ weren't any large groups in the area. They _probably_ wouldn't be looking for other contestants at night. They _probably_ wouldn't want to climb a mountain.

She and John were _probably_ safe.

As long as they stayed put. But how long could they stay here? Once morning came and the snow died down – _if_ the snow died down – would John want to keep climbing?

Would _she_ want to keep climbing? That was the real question. What John wanted didn't really matter. But she wasn't entirely sure which path she wanted to take. She was used to making decisions, yes, but usually based on what she wanted. On what would make her happy. It was easy enough to convince others to follow her as long as she knew what she wanted.

But right now, the only thing that would make her happy was staying alive. And there was no way to know which decision, which path, would end with that result. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do.

Maybe that was why she couldn't sleep.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

Part of him was surprised he'd been able to get to sleep.

Akil rolled over – now awake, but not quite certain what to do about it. Piper was still awake beside him, keeping watch. She'd slept enough earlier, she'd said, and maybe she had. Or maybe she just didn't want to go to sleep, now that she knew what – or, rather, who – was waiting for her.

Which was the same reason he hadn't wanted to sleep, either, but, eventually, he hadn't been able to keep his eyes open anymore. But now he was glad he had. Because now he knew what he had to do. What they both had to do.

It was just a matter of when.

"Are you all right?" Piper asked quietly, her voice trembling from the cold despite the blanket that was wrapped around both of them and the parachute that lay on top. Maybe she could tell he was awake. Maybe she'd figured out what he'd seen.

But there was no way she could know what Diana had told him.

Akil sat up a little. "I … I saw her. Diana. She had something she wanted to tell me. To tell us."

Piper nodded. "What?"

"The boy who shot her down – he's nearby. He's asleep. She thinks … well, she thinks she can keep him asleep – keep him in the dreamland – while we…" He trailed off, letting Piper finish the sentence for herself.

"She wants us to kill him?" Piper asked softly. "That doesn't sound like—"

"Like Diana," Akil finished. "But think about it, Piper. If he's in the area, he could be heading this way. If he finds us here … well, I might be able to project something into his head, but we don't really have any other way to defend ourselves. If the choice is between us killing him and him killing us…"

Piper nodded. "Okay. Which way?" she asked, already beginning to crawl out from under the blanket.

Akil raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected it to be that easy to convince her. Maybe she was just as anxious as he was to _do_ something. Maybe she was just as angry that the boy had shot Diana. Maybe she understood that behind his words about kill or be killed, what he really wanted – and what he suspected Diana wanted, as well – was revenge. Whoever this boy was, he hadn't shown Diana any mercy. He had shot her down out of the sky without a second thought. Why should they be expected to be any kinder to him?

Akil joined Piper in packing up their blanket and parachutes. "This way." He pointed away from the shore, just like Diana had told him. "He's this way. But we should hurry. We don't know how long Diana will be able to keep him asleep."

 _Or even if she can._ Diana hadn't seemed to confident about being able to keep him occupied in the dreamland. Which made sense, of course. Until now, she hadn't really had a reason to try holding someone there against their will. What would be the point? But now…

Now their lives might depend on what she could do in there.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 27  
** **Coach**

What was she doing in there?

Vincent shook his head, pacing back and forth in front of the screens. "What's she doing? She has to have figured out that Ky's the one who killed her. She can get into enough people's dreams to realize that he's already dead. Hell, Monet's asleep right now; they could tell Diana exactly how Ky died, if they had a mind to. So what's she playing at?"

Alvin smiled a little, shaking his head. "You still don't get it, do you. She's helping you."

"Helping us? By sending Akil and Piper off on a wild goose chase to kill someone who's already dead?"

Alvin shook his head. "No. By giving us a reason not to stop her."

Ian scoffed. "Stop her? Stop her from doing what? And how were you planning to stop her from doing _anything_?"

Alvin plopped down in a nearby chair. "Look, we're not idiots, Ian. Once we figured out you could talk to her – and, by extension, pretty much anyone else on the planet – the idea was fielded that maybe we could kidnap her parents and use them as leverage to keep her from doing whatever it was you were asking her to do. But if she's _helping_ us – if she's keeping the Games moving rather than trying to stop them – then she's not a liability. She's an asset."

"An asset," Maria repeated. "She's not an _asset_. She's a seventeen-year-old kid who's _dead_ because you people think mutants are a problem that needs to be solved. A disease that needs to be eradicated. Whatever she's doing, she's _not_ doing it to help you."

"Of course she's not. But if I can persuade the others that she is, then it'll buy her time to do … whatever it is that she's _really_ doing."

Vincent shook his head. "The others can hear what you're telling us right now, can't they."

"Of course."

"So what are you going to tell them?"

"That what I'm saying, I'm saying in order to manipulate you into not talking her _out_ of convincing the others to kill."

"What?"

"I'm going to tell them that we all want the same thing."

Ian crossed his arms. "We _don't_ want the same thing."

"Perhaps not. But she _is_ giving all of us what we want. So it's in _all_ of our best interests to let her. So take the opportunity to contact your families or whoever else you asked her to find for you. As long as she keeps steering Piper and Akil in the right direction—"

"You think she actually told them where someone is, don't you," Maria realized. "Not Ky, but … someone."

Alvin nodded. "Obviously. Sure, she could send them off in any random direction and keep them occupied for a while, but what good would that do? No, if she's actually trying to help them survive, she'll direct them to someone who _is_ asleep. Isadore, maybe. He's near enough. Or perhaps John and Victoria, or Parker and Clara. But my bet's on Isadore. He's alone. He's asleep. And they have no way of knowing he _didn't_ shoot her down."

Maria's face flushed. "But he _didn't_!"

"Of course not. But if they kill him before he has a chance to tell them that, they'll have no way of knowing that."

"And then what?" Vincent asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Alvin admitted. "I guess we'll have to wait and see."

* * *

" _Sometimes anger can help you survive."_


	24. Prove

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a heads-up that the previous chapter was posted while story alerts weren't working, so just make sure you've read the last one before heading on to this one...

* * *

 **Prove**

* * *

 **Dr. Anita Donahue, 34  
** **March 21st, 02:23 AKST**

It still didn't quite seem real.

Anita couldn't help staring as Hans led her to the room that would suffice as their hospital on the island. It was equipped with practically everything she could have asked for – and a few things she wouldn't have thought of. There wasn't much space, but Hans assured her that wouldn't be a problem. "If everything goes according to plan, you'll only have one patient."

Anita shook her head. "I hear I already have two."

Hans shrugged. "Alvin and Francine could both use another look, certainly, but I took care of most of that already. I'm glad to have you here, though."

"Why me?"

Hans turned. "Pardon?"

"Why did you pick me? You could have chosen any doctor in the country – or several. What made me stand out?"

"You were near the top of your class."

"In medical school. Years ago."

"Judah said your experience in the field—"

"There are plenty of army doctors. _Why me_?"

Hans smiled a little. "Why so curious?"

Anita raised an eyebrow. "You're staging a fight to the death between mutant teenagers and _my_ name is the one you pull out of a hat? I think I have a right to know why."

Hans nodded. "Alvin said that versatility was the important thing. We have no idea what sort of injuries the survivor might come out of the Games with. We need someone who can think on their feet, who can deal with anything that might be thrown at them. Someone who's not limited to one specific area. Your name came up because of your reputation – a sort of jack of all trades, so to speak. You've done a little of this, a little of that – a year here, a year there."

"People don't usually see that as a good thing on a résumé."

"Alvin thought otherwise."

"Alvin? Isn't he the one you were describing as a pompous, meddling know-it-all?"

"That he is. But he's right about this. We need someone adaptable – and that's you."

Anita shook her head. "If you'd just wanted versatility, you could have brought in dozens of doctors with different specialties."

"We could have. But the fewer people who know about all this, the better – at least, until we're ready for the world to know what we're up to. And you also have a reputation for … let's say discretion."

"You mean I'm not likely to blab about what you're doing because I don't have anyone to blab to."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but … well, yes. No strong family ties. No close friends or coworkers as far as we could tell. No roots."

"Something else that would usually raise red flags."

Hans nodded. "Things are a bit different here."

"I noticed."

"Come on. I'll show you your room, and then you can meet the others."

"I look forward to it."

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She wasn't looking forward to the morning.

Jayden huddled closer to Snowball, listening to Austin and Verona's quiet breathing. They'd both managed to fall asleep. So why couldn't she? She'd tried, but every noise – every gust of wind rustling the new-fallen snow, every rustling of the parachutes that formed their makeshift tent – startled her awake again. How could any of them sleep, when they had no way of knowing if they would ever wake up?

Jayden closed her eyes again. She should be used to this. But this … it was different than it had ever been with her parents. She had learned to read them – to recognize signs that they were in a bad mood, to anticipate when they might act. Now … now she had no way of knowing when an attack would come, or _where_ it would come from. Someone could be sneaking up on them, and they would never know until—

Jayden's eyes snapped open, her gaze darting around in the dark. Nothing. There was nothing out there – or, at least, nothing she could see. But that wasn't exactly a comforting thought. She couldn't see very far in the dark. But surely Snowball would be able to smell someone coming. And the fox was still awake. That was something.

It would have to be enough. She was tired. So tired. She'd barely slept at all the night before, either. She'd gotten a little sleep earlier, before the snow had started. While Verona was keeping watch. That, at least, had provided the illusion of safety. But even if they left someone on guard, what was Verona going to do if someone attacked? Force them to spout rhymes? What good would that do?

Of course, her own power wasn't much better. She had Snowball. And they'd sent her a knife. But what good was either of those against a mutant who could … what? Turn into a bear? Control the other contestants' bodies at a whim? What good would a knife be against that?

So maybe it wouldn't hurt if she slept. Maybe their chances were the same whether they were asleep or awake to see an attack coming. Besides, would anyone really want to keep moving in the dark? The snow was finally starting to subside, but it was still windy and freezing cold. Chances were, the others were huddled under whatever shelter they could find, as well.

But what else did the MAAB expect them to do? Surely they couldn't expect them to be out killing each other in the cold and the dark – not unless their powers involved some sort of light or heat. Hers didn't, and neither did Austin's or Verona's. Right now, the best thing to do was stay put and conserve their energy.

What else were they supposed to do?

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

What else were they supposed to do?

Simon huddled close to Reese as the pair of them snuggled under their parachutes. It was still far too cold to even think about doing anything else. Reese had finally managed to fall asleep. And why not? If the girl's duplicates had been following them, surely they would have found them by now. They were probably as safe as they could be.

But for how long? Until the snow stopped? Until morning? How long before someone else would happen to stumble across them? How long before they had to fight?

Not that it had been much of a fight last time. They would have to do better next time, if they wanted to survive. Next time, they would be ready.

But even if they _had_ been ready – even if they had been willing to fight right away, willing to kill – would it have helped? What chance would the two of them have if the girl and a dozen or her duplicates found them? One of the reasons he'd teamed up with Reese and Rory in the first place was because there was strength in numbers. But the girl had that without having to join forces with anybody. She had them outnumbered. She probably had _everyone_ outnumbered.

So they would have to keep moving. Hope that she would find someone else, instead. Or that someone else would find her. Someone whose powers were a bit more impressive. Hope that someone else would be able to take care of her. That someone else would…

That someone else would kill her. Those were the words he was avoiding. There was still a part of him that didn't want to admit it – that didn't want to accept that she would have to die. That someone would have to kill her. Even now that Rory was dead. Rory had pulled a knife, after all. What if the girl had been just as afraid as they were? What if she was _still_ just as afraid?

That would certainly explain why she hadn't come after them. Maybe she and her duplicates would stay huddled by the lake. That was certainly what _he_ would do in her position.

But he wasn't in her position. He didn't have a dozen copies of himself that he could summon. He just had his hearing. And that only helped if he was awake. But maybe he could close his eyes for a while…

Simon stifled a yawn. He _was_ tired. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes. If no one had found them by now, what were the chances another few minutes would really make a difference?

And if someone came and found them – if someone killed them – well, at least he wouldn't be cold anymore.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

She wasn't quite so cold anymore.

Cyrene hid a yawn as she huddled with Tira, Rana, and three of her other clones, their body heat keeping each other warm enough for the moment. Luna was still on guard duty – which Rana had objected to, but Cyrene had won that argument by threatening to re-absorb Rana if she didn't do as she was told. That had been enough to calm her down.

But how long would that last? If Rana was determined to start a fight, how long would Cyrene be able to keep her under control? How long did she _want_ to keep her under control? Rana only wanted to kill, after all, because those were the rules. Kill or be killed. If she didn't want to die, then everyone else on the island had to.

Cyrene closed her eyes, snuggling a little closer to Tira. They didn't have to die right this moment. That could wait until the morning. Everything could wait until the morning. Even if someone managed to find her, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to attack six of them. Not unless their power was something they could use from a safe distance.

Like hers. The thought had been nagging at her ever since Rana had killed that boy. She could, if she wanted to, stay at the lake with a clone or two and send the rest out scouting. Looking for other contestants. She would never have to risk her _own_ life. But was it fair to ask her clones to risk theirs?

Rana would do it, she was certain – without hesitation. But the others? Would they follow her? Would they fight, if she asked them to? And what were they supposed to fight _with_?

The boy had pulled out a knife. Where had he gotten a weapon? If she could find one – or several, even – then her clones would have a better chance in a fight. Rana had gotten lucky. The boy had been frightened enough to allow her to get ahold of his weapon. She couldn't count on that happening again.

So that would be their goal in the morning. They already had food – a little, at least – and there was plenty of water in the lake. So weapons were next. Even if she didn't want to send her clones out looking for other _contestants,_ surely they couldn't object to her sending them out to look for supplies. To look for something they could use as a weapon – and maybe some more food.

And she could stay where she was. That still didn't sound right. Still didn't sound fair. But it was best for her to stay where it was safe. If _she_ died, after all…

Cyrene shook the thought from her head. She had no idea what would happen to her clones if she died. Or what would happen to _her_ if one of them died. And she was in no hurry to find out. She would tell them to look for food and weapons – to come back if they found something – or some _one_ dangerous. They had time. There was no point in risking their lives – not yet. There were still plenty of other contestants left on the island. If some of them killed each other off while she and her clones waited and planned, all the better.

She just hoped some of them would.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

He just hoped they found someone soon.

Akil shivered as he and Piper made their way forward through the snow. It still wasn't particularly deep, but the wind was making things worse – at least as far as the temperature went. As far as hiding their tracks … well, maybe the wind was a good thing. It was blowing the light, fluffy snow across their path, hiding the tracks as well as they could hope for.

They certainly weren't going to stop and try to hide the tracks themselves. They had to keep moving. Whoever had killed Diana, they were probably getting close. They'd been walking for … How long? It felt like hours. But had it really been that long, or was that simply because it was so cold?

He'd thought about trying to project something – the illusion, at least, that they were warm. But that could be dangerous. After all, the illusion of warmth didn't change the fact that it was still _cold_. Their bodies were still vulnerable to the chill. There had been nights on the streets when he had fallen asleep warm and cozy because of an illusion, only to wake half-frozen, desperate to find somewhere that was _actually_ warm.

But here, there would be nowhere that was warm. There was no way to treat something like hypothermia out here. If they got too cold, they would die. Period.

But surely that was true for anyone else they might come across. Everyone else on the island, really. If they _all_ started to freeze to death, what would the MAAB do? Surely that wasn't what they wanted for their cameras. A bunch of mutants freezing to death wouldn't accomplish their goal.

Or would it?

Akil glanced around again in the snow. The threat of freezing to death might actually be _exactly_ what the MAAB wanted. If the contestants were concerned about freezing, they might be more willing to fight just to end the Game as quickly as possible. And they might be more likely to do something stupid and desperate.

Something like searching for other contestants in the middle of a snowstorm.

Akil shook the thought from his head. If they got too tired, they could always settle back down for the night. There hadn't been anything special about the place they'd chosen before. One place was as good as another to set up their parachutes again and get some rest, if it came to that. He just hoped they could find Diana's killer first, because otherwise…

Otherwise, they would have to try to sleep knowing he might be nearby. That he might find them. Diana had said she would try to hold him in the dreamland, but did she really have that power? Could she really hold him there against his will? And how long could she hope to do that?

No, it was better to keep moving. Better to—

"There!" Piper hissed, pointing. It took him a moment to see what she was pointing at – some sort of lump covered in snow up ahead. Was it another contestant? A mound of dirt? Or some sort of animal, maybe? "I'll go check it out," Piper whispered. Akil waited, and a slight turning in his stomach let him know that she had glanced into the future.

"Well?" Akil asked quietly. "What is it?"

"A boy." Piper's voice was trembling, but maybe it was just the cold. "It's a boy. You're right. He must be the one who killed Diana."

Akil nodded, not wanting to correct her. _He_ had killed Diana. The boy had shot her down, of course, but _he_ had been the one to smother her in her sleep. Maybe it didn't matter. Diana certainly didn't seem to blame him, after all. But, still…

"I'll do it," he offered, taking a step towards the boy before Piper's hand clamped around his wrist.

"No," Piper whispered. "It's safer if I do it."

"Why?"

"Because if he wakes up while _I'm_ doing it, you can project an image into his head – confuse him long enough for me to…" She trailed off. "But if he wakes up while _you're_ doing it…"

Doing it. Killing him. If she couldn't even bring herself to say the words, how could she hope to actually _do_ it? But she was right; it was safer for her to try. He could at least do something to shield her from a distance. She wouldn't really be able to do anything to protect him – except warn him, maybe, but by then it might be too late.

He would have to let her try.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She had to be the one to try.

Piper held her breath as she crept forward through the snow and the wind. She had to be the one to do this. Her vision had held long enough for her to see that it was a boy under the snow. And for her to see…

Piper swallowed hard. No. No, she couldn't let Akil know what she had seen. She inched closer, just as she had in her vision. Turned Diana's headlamp on the lowest setting, just as she had before. And she saw…

Piper clenched her fists. She had been hoping – foolishly, she knew – that it wouldn't be the same. That she would see someone else. Because as soon as she had seen his face, she had known. Diana was lying. This wasn't the boy who had shot her down. It couldn't be.

Not just because he didn't look like a killer. He didn't, of course – lying in the snow, asleep, his body trembling from the cold. Looks could be deceiving, of course. _She_ didn't look much like a killer, she was sure, but here she was, about to…

No, it wasn't that. It wasn't even the fact that he was so young. He couldn't be much more than fourteen or fifteen. Certainly younger than her. Too young to be here. Too young to die. But it wasn't his age that told her he hadn't killed Diana.

It was his face. A face she recognized. A conversation she'd overheard the first day – the day before they'd begun training. A word she'd caught, as he'd been discussing his powers with a girl. "Aquakinetic."

He could control water. And whatever had torn through Diana's parachute, it hadn't been water. He hadn't killed her. Maybe he hadn't killed _anyone_.

But she still had to kill him.

Piper took a deep breath. Why? Because Diana had said so? Why had she led them here? Why did she want Akil to think _this_ was the boy who had killed her? Maybe she knew, deep down, that he needed this. That he still felt guilty about killing her, about trapping her in the dreamland. Maybe if he thought the boy who had shot her down was dead…

But was he? Was he dead, or was he still out there somewhere? Because he certainly wasn't in front of her right now. Piper knelt down beside the boy. Maybe … maybe he _had_ killed someone. Not Diana, but someone. Maybe that was why she had chosen him. Maybe he deserved to die.

Or maybe he had just been the nearest target.

Piper glanced back at Akil, who took a step forward. Piper raised her hand, silently mouthing the words _stay there_. And he did. But he wouldn't stay forever. If she didn't kill the boy now, Akil would come do it himself. And he might not recognize the boy's face, but he would surely see the scorch marks on the boy's jacket. Scorch marks identical to the ones on Diana's parachute. He would put together what she had – that he had been shot down, too. That he probably hadn't killed _anyone_.

But he still had to die.

Silently, Piper wrapped her hands around his throat. He didn't wake up. Maybe Diana really _could_ do what she'd said. Or maybe the boy was simply too frozen to notice a pair of cold hands around his neck. Too cold to notice as she squeezed. Harder. Harder. She could feel his pulse beneath her hands. Racing. Throbbing. Trying to keep him alive.

She squeezed harder.

Then the pulsing was gone. His body stopped trembling. She kept squeezing. She had to be certain. When she finally let go, the boy didn't move. Couldn't move. It was over.

Her hands were shaking. She tried to stand, but her stomach was churning. She managed to turn just in time to avoid vomiting on the body in front of her. She could see two feet moving closer. Akil. As quickly as she could, she switched off the headlamp, still retching, coughing, trying to stand.

Akil helped her up. "Let's get out of here." Good. He hadn't seen. He wouldn't see. Piper nodded silently as he led her back the way they had come. "It's all right," Akil whispered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "It's over."

But it wasn't.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

It wasn't like any state he'd been in before.

Tariq glanced around, surprised. Everything seemed so cloudy. Usually, falling into a meditative state while he was asleep made everything clearer. Made it easier to think, to feel. This … this was different. It was fuzzier. Almost like a…

Like a dream. Or maybe like how other people seemed to describe dreaming. Everything seemed so empty – except for the fog – but there was something else. Some sort of presence. "Hello?" he called, not quite sure what he was expecting to hear. "Is anybody there?"

She appeared immediately. A girl with pale skin and long, dark hair. "How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

" _Talking_?"

Tariq raised an eyebrow. "You are, too."

The girl's hand flew to her throat. "I am. I can't usually … usually, when I try to talk, it comes out all garbled. But maybe things are different now that I'm…" She trailed off. "How did you find me?"

Tariq shrugged. "I didn't. You found me."

The girl's face flushed red. "You're not the person I was looking for."

"But you _are_ looking for someone."

"I was. And then I thought that maybe…" She looked away. "Someone died. And it was my fault. I kept him here – in the dreamland – while they … they killed him. He's dead. He disappeared, right in front of me, and I … it's my fault."

Tariq stared. He wanted to step back. To run away. Instead, he took a step closer, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders. "Who was he?"

"I don't know. He was a boy. Someone who was nearby. I wanted the board to think that I … that I could help them. That I _was_ helping them. Then maybe they wouldn't know that the coaches asked me to…" She shook her head. "But it's stupid. They want me to find someone, and I … I don't know how. I don't know where to look. Usually, I'm just looking for my own family, but after I found them, I…" Her eyes were full of tears. "I told them I'm dead, and they … they didn't want to wake up. They wanted to stay here forever - with me. So I disappeared. I wouldn't let them. I left them, and I went looking for…"

"Who? Who are you looking for?" And what could be more important than finding her family?

"A man. A man the coaches think can help them. But I don't know _how_."

Tariq gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Let me help."

"You want to help me?"

"Why not? If there's someone the coaches think can get us out of this mess without having to kill anyone, I want to find them as badly as you do. So who are we looking for?"

"His name's Erik Lehnsherr. But I don't know where he is. I don't even know if he's asleep. Hell, I don't even know if he's _alive_."

Tariq smiled. "Then let's see if we can find out."

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

"Let's see if we can find some food."

Terry grumbled a little as he rolled over. "Five more minutes, Sa—" He caught himself before he finished the word. _Five more minutes, Samantha._ But Samantha wasn't here. Samantha was dead. Slowly, he got to his feet. "Never mind."

The snow must have stopped at some point during the night. There was maybe an inch covering the ground – light and fluffy and almost … almost beautiful. The wind had finally died down, as well, but the air was still cold. Taylor handed him one of the last two sticks of jerky. They still had a bottle of orange juice, which was good because a thin layer of ice now covered the stream they'd been following. It would be easy enough to break through the ice, of course, but the water would still be cold.

The orange juice was a bit chilly, too, of course, but the body heat inside their makeshift tent had kept it from freezing completely. Once they'd finished the bottle, they refilled it with water, and Taylor tucked it inside her jacket, hoping to warm it up a little for later. Looking for food had been her suggestion, but now she seemed to be stalling. "Keep following the stream, I guess?" Terry offered. They'd come to the end of one stream a while ago, but had quickly picked up another. This one seemed to be getting wider instead of skinnier. Maybe that meant it would lead to a lake or something. Maybe there would be fish there.

Or maybe it simply meant it would lead back to the ocean. There might be fish there, too, of course, but catching fish in a lake sounded a bit less … intimidating. Samantha had taken him fishing before on Waconda Lake at the nearby state park. But they'd had fishing rods. They'd had bait. How were they supposed to fish without either of those things?

Terry shook the thought from his head. First, they had to _find_ a lake. And that meant they would have to keep moving. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they would stay warmer if they kept moving. Kept looking. He and Taylor nodded silently, and the pair of them headed off to the northwest, following the stream.

Terry stretched his arms. It was barely light enough to follow the stream. Most of the others would probably still be asleep. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would let them put some distance between themselves and the other contestants.

Or maybe…

Terry glanced over at Taylor. Anyone they found now would probably be asleep. Was that why she had suggested setting out now? Was she _hoping_ to find someone?

Hoping to find someone to kill?

Terry clenched his fists tightly. That was what they were here for, after all. They had to kill. But sneaking up and killing someone in their sleep seemed almost … unfair. Less like a fight to the death and more like … murder. Cold-blooded murder. That was what the Sentinels had done to Samantha. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want to _be_ that.

But a fair fight – was that a fight he and Taylor could win? It was certainly safer to attack someone in their sleep. Less risky – and that was good, wasn't it? Yes. Yes, that was good.

But it was also worse.

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

She had thought it would be worse.

Rosalind didn't bother hiding a yawn as she stretched her arms in the early morning light. She was still alive. Hadley was still alive – and sleeping soundly beside her. Everything that had happened at the lake seemed a bit more … distant. A bit less frightening now, in the light of day. Almost as if it had been a dream.

It hadn't been a dream, of course. There had been someone under the lake. Someone alive – someone who might be dead now. But now, in daylight, that didn't seem quite as important as it had. They were still alive – the two of them. That was what mattered.

Wasn't it?

And if they were going to stay alive, they would need to find some food. They had approached the lake hoping that they would be able to find some fish. But she wasn't about to suggest going back there. Maybe there was still someone there. Maybe they were still alive.

Hadley probably wouldn't want to go back, either. He had been just as frightened as she was – maybe more. They had both assumed that since the lake had _looked_ unoccupied, there was no danger. They couldn't make the same mistake again, or _they_ might be the ones who died.

Rosalind lay back down next to Hadley. They had no proof that anyone _had_ died. There had been screams, yes, but they might have survived. Part of her hoped they had survived. Hadley hadn't meant to kill anyone, after all. He'd just been trying to freeze the lake to make it easier to catch fish. If he'd known there were people under there…

Then what? Maybe he hadn't _meant_ to kill anyone, but they both knew what would have to happen, eventually, if they wanted to live. Other people would have to die. They would have to kill. If they had known, somehow, that someone was under the lake, would they have left … or would Hadley have done the exact same thing?

Rosalind shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter. Maybe he would have tried to kill them. Maybe he wouldn't have. There was no point in worrying about it now. If the others were dead, they were dead. If they had survived, they would have to die eventually, anyway, if they wanted to live.

If _she_ wanted to live.

Rosalind closed her eyes, snuggled up close against Hadley. It was warmer that way. And she felt safer. If someone found them – which seemed unlikely – they would probably see Hadley as the bigger threat and go after him first. And Hadley … he would probably be able to protect himself. Certainly better than she could.

But she couldn't rely on him forever.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He couldn't let Tariq sleep forever.

Cameron rubbed his eyes in the early morning light. He had woken about an hour ago to find Tariq fast asleep. He must have dozed off at some point during the night. That wasn't a problem, really. They were still alive. No one had found them. No one had killed them. They were safe.

But how long would they _be_ safe?

Cameron took a deep breath. He'd been putting off trying to wake Tariq because he wasn't certain he would be able to. If Tariq wasn't just sleeping – if he'd fallen into one of his trances – then there wasn't anything Cameron could do.

And if that was the case, maybe it was better to find out now. But there was a part of him that didn't want to know. That was clinging to the hope that all it would take was a tap on the shoulder to wake his friend if someone happened to find them. If _they_ had found the lake, after all, then so could anyone else. They had a map, of course, but there was no telling how many other contestants might have one, as well.

Maybe they should have picked a safer place to sleep.

 _Okay. Just think._ Cameron gave Tariq's shoulder a gentle shake. If he woke up, no harm done. They could move somewhere a bit less obvious and set up their parachutes there. If he didn't…

Tariq didn't budge. Cameron shook harder. Nothing. Tariq was completely still. Cameron felt for a pulse. It was still there, but very slow and very faint. Tariq had warned him about that. His own family had been fooled into thinking he was dead. Cameron was certain he was still perfectly fine.

He just wouldn't wake up.

Cameron glanced around, his mind racing. Okay. There was no need to panic yet. No one was coming. Maybe Tariq would snap out of it on his own. Maria had said, after all, that this was a good way to conserve their energy. But if someone found them before Tariq woke up…

Okay. First things first. Maybe he could drag Tariq somewhere else. That didn't seem like a great option, considering how much bigger Tariq was, but it was something. Something to do. But even if he did, he would leave a trail leading away from the lake. A trail any idiot would be able to follow. And he wouldn't be able to drag Tariq very far. Everything was flat. Open. Even if he could get a half-mile away – which seemed unlikely, anyway – anyone who found the lake would probably still be able to see them – trail or no trail.

So he would have to be ready. If someone found them, he would have to hope they just wanted water … or he would have to be ready to fight.

Cameron swallowed hard. He had told himself that he wouldn't fight. That he was willing to die in order to avoid giving the MAAB what they wanted. But that was when Tariq had been awake. The thought of them dying together … that hadn't sounded so bad. But if Tariq was asleep, would he really be able to go through with not fighting back?

Cameron pulled his jacket a little tighter. If someone found them, maybe he would be able to reason with them. Maybe they would just want water. And if they attacked … well, he could always run. But that … that seemed like an even worse option than staying and dying. Running – and leaving Tariq on his own, asleep – seemed cowardly.

He didn't want to be a coward.

But, now that it came to it, he didn't want to _die_ , either.

 _Okay. Breathe. Think._ It wasn't a problem yet. No one had found them. Maybe no one _would_ find them. It was a big island, after all. Maybe Tariq would wake up before anyone had the chance to stumble across the lake.

But what if he didn't?

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

What if there was someone already there?

Taylor stared into the distance up ahead, where Terry was pointing. "Doesn't that look like a parachute?" he whispered.

It did. But what was he suggesting? If there _was_ someone up there, was he suggesting that they head in the other direction … or that they attack?

Were those the only two options?

"Yeah," Taylor whispered. "It looks like a parachute. Do you think someone's there?"

"Maybe," Terry agreed. "Or maybe they left some food there. Some supplies or something. Maybe they went somewhere else for the night. They have to know that wouldn't be the safest place to sleep."

He was rationalizing. Trying to give them a reason to go and see who was there without sounding like they were going to attack. Like they were going to kill. He was trying not to make them look like monsters. But who was he trying to convince? The audience? The MAAB? Or himself?

Maybe it didn't matter. "Let's go see," Taylor agreed. She took a step forward, but Terry still didn't move. "Look. Maybe if there _is_ someone there, they probably just want water and fish from the lake – just like we do. Maybe there's plenty to share."

Even as she said it, though, she knew how useless those words were. They weren't here to _share_ food or resources. They were here to kill each other. Whoever was at the lake, they would have to die eventually. Now was as good a time as any. And even if Terry wasn't willing to kill…

Then what? What if there was more than one person there? Was she really ready to take on a group of contestants by herself? But what other choice did they have? Now that they'd found a lake – exactly what they'd spent the entire day yesterday looking for – did he really want to turn around and go back?

No. No, he wanted to go forward just as much as she did. They were both hoping there would be no one there. Both waiting for the other to be the first to actually find out – just in case. They were each waiting to see what the other would do. Waiting to see if the other was really ready to play the Game. Really ready to kill. But someone would have to go first.

And they couldn't wait forever.

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

How long were they going to wait?

Maria paced back and forth as Terry and Taylor hesitated, trying to decide whether heading to the lake was worth the risk. She hoped they decided not to go. Tariq was one of her contestants, and she'd already lost Isadore…

Isadore. He was dead. Piper had killed him. She'd known the moment he'd decided to leave the others that he would have a hard time surviving on his own. She should have been expecting it. Should have seen it coming.

That didn't make it any better.

Because he had died for something he hadn't done. Diana had told Akil that he was the one who had shot her down. Why? Alvin seemed to think she was stalling for time – trying to give them a chance to … what? Before Alvin had turned Vincent's collar off, Ian had managed to tell them that Diana was looking for Erik. But even if she managed to find him, even if she could tell him what was happening, what did Ian really expect him to do?

Would he really risk his life to save _them_?

Maybe if Professor Xavier was with them. But he wasn't. He was dead. And if Xavier had told Vincent to find Erik – rather than to locate the other X-Men – how many of the others were dead, as well? There was no one that Magneto had a reason to care about. Just three of Professor Xavier's least powerful teachers and a handful of mutant teenagers he'd never met. Even if he managed to find them…

That was the other problem, of course. How would he _find_ them? They were on an island – roughly a four hour flight from … from wherever they had been before. Somewhere in Alaska. But Alaska was _big_. And how many islands were there nearby? Alvin had told the contestants that the nearest land was a hundred miles away, so that might narrow it down … if he was telling the truth. Had he simply told them that so that they wouldn't try to swim away?

They had no way of knowing. No way of knowing anything, really, except that the island was long, skinny, and pretty featureless except for a mountain on the southern side. That wasn't much to go on. Even if Diana managed to find Erik, and even if he _did_ want to try to save them, it could take him a while to find where they were. And by then…

By then, the Games might be over.

* * *

" _You said yourself, we're the better man. This is the time to prove it."_


	25. A Rare Thing

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** My apologies for the somewhat lumpy updating schedule during June. Family stuff happened, but no camping trips are planned for July, and I'll be doing Camp NaNoWriMo, so hopefully that'll give me the kick in the pants I need to get going more on this.

* * *

 **A Rare Thing**

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 42  
** **March 21st, 08:40 AKST**

She had barely slept all night.

Francine stretched a little, squinting at the screens as the sun continued to creep over the horizon, reflecting off the layer of new-fallen snow. All across the island, the contestants were waking up. Surveying their surroundings. Getting their bearings.

Monet and Penelope had set up camp on the southern tip of the island, and, ever since Ky's attack, hadn't had any trouble. And even Ky's attack hadn't proven to be much trouble for Penelope to handle. Judah had been rather tight-lipped around her about what sort of program, exactly, Penelope had been involved in, but whatever it was, her training seemed to have paid off.

Even most of the contestants without any experience, though, seemed to be doing pretty well. Since Ryden's death, Parker and Clara had managed to avoid trouble, and Victoria and John had been too focused on getting up the mountain they'd found to even think about looking for anyone else. A little to the north of the mountain, Akil and Piper had finally settled down for the night after putting some distance between them and the boy she'd killed.

The boy she'd killed. Isadore. At the lake, Ben, Cassidy, and Natasha were waking up, completely unaware that Isadore, too, was now dead. Francine shook her head. Maybe they would be safe for a while. The only other contestants in the area were Hadley and Rosalind, and it seemed unlikely that they would want to head back to the lake.

Unless, of course, they needed water. That was what Mack was probably going to try to frame the fight as – a skirmish over water. Just like animals. Fighting over food and water. Defending their territory. It wouldn't be hard for him to make it look like that was what was happening.

And, to some extent, that _was_ what was happening. Cyrene and her clones certainly seemed to be guarding their lake, ready for anyone who happened to come along looking for a drink. Fortunately for her, most of the other contestants were a good distance away. And Reese and Simon, who were the closest, were heading in the opposite direction.

At least they seemed to have some direction. Ever since leaving the lake, Austin, Verona, and Jayden had been content to wander rather aimlessly. So far, though, it seemed to have worked, and Snowball had been able to keep them away from the other contestants. Taylor and Terry had passed close to them a while ago, but were now heading towards the northern lake, where Cameron was still trying to wake Tariq. Once they reached the lake…

Then what? Would they really attack Cameron and Tariq? Would they offer to share the lake? A day ago, she would have found it hard to imagine the contestants killing each other over a little water. But now…

Now some of them had done exactly that. And some had killed each other for less. Francine closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. It wasn't their fault. If they hadn't been told this was a fight to the death, _none_ of them would have considered harming the others. They were only doing what anyone would do in their position. Exactly what _she_ would do if she were in their place.

But it didn't matter. It didn't matter that a group of human teens – or even adults – would almost certainly behave exactly the same. It didn't matter to the rest of the MAAB, and it wouldn't matter to the audience. To the country. It wasn't fair. But it wasn't going to change.

Not without a lot of work.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

Dragging Tariq away from the lake was a lot of work.

Cameron took a deep breath and pulled again. Then pushed. He'd managed to move Tariq a few yards so far, but it didn't take a genius to figure out it wasn't going to do much good. There was now a clear trail leading away from the lake, even if the terrain wasn't flat enough to see them clearly. But he kept pulling, because it felt better than doing nothing.

At least the effort was keeping him warm, even if it did nothing to hide them. But what good was being warm going to be if someone found them? Dying warm and sweating was just as bad as dying cold and shivering. He would still be just as dead if—

Then he saw them. Off in the distance, but still clear against the early morning sky. Two contestants, headed towards the lake. Cameron tensed, completely motionless by Tariq's side. What was he supposed to do now? If he could see them, they could certainly see him – and Tariq. It was only a matter of time before they arrived.

 _Think. Just think._ He couldn't just leave Tariq. But he didn't want to fight. And he certainly didn't want to die. Cameron gave Tariq one more shake, his eyes wet with tears. Cameron wiped them away with his sleeve. Now wasn't the time to cry.

Unless…

Cameron bent over Tariq, letting his tears flow freely, pretending to ignore the figures approaching. With any luck, the pair of them had no idea what Tariq's power was. With any luck, they would think he was already dead. All he had to do was let them get close enough to see that he was crying. And then…

Closer. A little closer. At last, Cameron looked up, pretending to notice them for the first time. He sprang to his feet, slung both their backpacks over his shoulders, and bolted in the opposite direction, not daring to look back. If they caught him looking back, after all, they might find it suspicious that he was concerned about the fate of a corpse. The best thing he could do for Tariq was leave him.

 _He'll be fine._ Cameron clenched his fists as he ran, heading back in the direction of the spot where he and Tariq had first landed on the island. Tariq would be fine. After all, his own family had been fooled into thinking he was dead. He hadn't _meant_ to do that, of course, but he also hadn't meant to slip into a trance in the middle of the Games.

Had he?

Maybe he had. Maybe he'd thought that would be a good way to pass the time. Maybe he had thought a painless death – one he wasn't conscious for – was better than being awake.

 _Stop it. He's not going to die._ After a little while, he could return to the lake. The others might be gone by then. Maybe they would assume that whoever had killed Tariq was still around. Maybe they would have the sense to find somewhere more protected to stay. Maybe.

Right now, 'maybe' was all he had.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

Maybe the other one was already dead.

Taylor glanced over at Terry as the pair of them ventured closer. The younger boy had run off too quickly for them to catch him, even if they wanted to. Right now, she was more interested in the lake. Where there was a lake, there might be fish – which was good because they were out of their jerky. The other boy didn't seem to be moving. Sleeping? Injured? Already dead? She wasn't sure.

But Terry seemed more interested in the boy than the lake, quietly making his way closer and closer to the body. Or, at least, she hoped it was just a body. Hoped that it wasn't a trap – that the boy wouldn't suddenly jump up and attack. "Wait," Taylor hissed. "What if he's not dead?"

Terry stopped in his tracks. "You think it's a trap?"

"Could be."

"Shit. And we walked right into it." She could see a bone already sticking out through the skin of his arm. Whether he had done that intentionally or whether it was his body reacting to his panic, she wasn't sure. Either way, he didn't seem to have much control as it grew longer and more pointed.

"Maybe he's already dead," Taylor offered.

"What if he's not?" The bone was longer now – almost long enough to be a spear. "We should make sure."

 _Make sure_. "You're going to kill him?"

Terry's face was pale. "Not if he's already dead."

He had a point. Taylor hesitated a moment, then nodded. If the boy was already dead, what Terry was about to do wouldn't harm him. And if he wasn't…

If he wasn't, the only explanation was that this was a trap. He didn't appear injured. If he was sleeping, surely the other boy could have simply woken him before running. And he _had_ appeared to be crying. If this was a trap, it was a good one. But wouldn't the boy have done _something_ by now if he really _was_ awake to hear them talking about killing him? No, he was probably dead.

He was almost certainly dead.

Taylor clenched her teeth, trying not to look away as Terry's spear-like bone stabbed through the boy's chest. Once. Twice. He didn't move. Blood began to seep out of the wounds, but that was normal. Wasn't it? Even if he was already dead, blood would still come out.

Slowly, the bone slid back into Terry's skin – all except the end, which was still coated in blood. Terry quickly made his way to the lake and dipped the bone in, washing it clean. "Well," Terry muttered. "If he wasn't dead before, he is now."

Taylor nodded. That was certainly true. They didn't have to worry about a trap anymore – unless the younger boy came back, which seemed unlikely. More likely, there had never been a trap at all, and they had interrupted the boy in the middle of mourning his friend. At least, she hoped that was the case. If not…

If not, Terry had just killed someone. Another contestant. Another mutant. Another _person_. But that was what they would both have to do, eventually, if they wanted to go home. The boy would have had to die eventually.

She just hoped Terry hadn't killed him.

Taylor shook her head, staring out at the lake. Unless she won, she might never know. Even then, she wasn't sure she would get the truth – not since the MAAB planned to manipulate the footage to their liking. She might never know the truth about what happened in the Games, beyond what she saw personally.

Maybe it was better that way.

* * *

 **Tariq Qasim, 22**

Maybe it was better this way.

Tariq glanced this way and that, the fog shifting around the dreamland as he and Diana searched. From what little they knew, they didn't really have any idea whether they were getting closer to finding Erik. But, somehow, it felt as though they were making progress. And this certainly seemed like a better use of his time than trying to make a fishing net.

Not that making a net had been a particularly bad idea. It was just that making a net was only going to help _them_ catch fish. Was only going to help _them_ survive. If he and Diana could find this Erik – and if he could help them – they might be able to help everyone who was still alive on the island. They might be able to stop the Games. And that could save hundreds – maybe even thousands – of lives.

 _First things first._ They still had to _find_ him. Tariq gripped Diana's had as they flew back and forth, this way and that, through crowds of people and patches of open space. All dreaming. He had to be _somewhere_.

Technically, of course, he didn't _have_ to be. He could be awake. But something in his gut told him otherwise. There was a reason he was here – a reason he had found Diana. They were meant to do this together.

Suddenly, it hit him. Pain. Deep in his chest, working its way out. His grip on Diana's hand slipped, and suddenly he was falling. He landed on something soft, Diana at his side in an instant. "Are you all right?"

No. No, he wasn't all right. His chest felt as if it were on fire. "Maybe you should wake up." Diana's voice was shaky. "What if something's happening?"

Tariq shook his head. If it hurt this much, something wasn't _happening._ It had already happened. And there was nothing he could do. Nothing except hope that they could find Erik before…

"Look!" He staggered to his feet, staring around him in the fog. But the fog was clearing. People were running through the streets – streets that were suddenly strewn with broken buildings and flames. Tariq slipped his hand into Diana's. The pain must have brought the memory back.

Diana squeezed his hand. "I can try to change—"

"No. No, there's a reason this is what appeared. He's here somewhere." But why would Erik be here? These were _his_ memories. The streets in Syria that he'd walked as a child, now torn and burning and littered with blood and bodies. The shouts were in his language. Women and children.

Children. Through the smoke, he could hear a child's voice. "Mama!"

"This way." Tariq pulled Diana forward, fighting the pain in his chest. _Just a little farther_. The buildings were changing. The people were still running, screaming, crying. But these were no longer his streets, his language, his time. Their clothes looked older. And the language…

"Mama!" A boy was standing in the street, crying, his arms reaching out for a mother who was no longer there.

Tariq stumbled forward, Diana at his side. The boy saw them and turned to run, but Tariq reached out and caught hold of his wrist. "Wait. Please, wait." As he did, though, another wave of pain struck him, and Tariq fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

"Who are you?" But the voice was no longer a child's. Tariq looked up, and, in the boy's place, he saw a man. Everything else had faded – the buildings, the people, the screams. Tariq's vision was growing blurry, but he could still see the man's face as he knelt down, laying a hand on Tariq's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Tariq gripped the man's hand tightly, fighting desperately to hold on – just a little longer. "Are you Erik? Erik Lehnsherr?"

"Yes."

Tariq smiled a little as he slumped to the ground, Erik's hands steadying him a little. "Then yes. Yes, I'm all right. I think my part is … is over."

Then everything went dark.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

Everything seemed so much clearer now.

Cassidy took a deep breath, the crisp morning air filling her lungs as she stared out at the lake. The rising sun reflected off the thin layer of ice that now laced the surface of the water. It was almost beautiful.

No. No, the water _was_ beautiful. It wasn't the water's fault that the MAAB had chosen this island as their arena. The water could still be beautiful. The sunrise could still be beautiful. The island could still be beautiful, despite the ugliness that had been forced upon it.

The ugliness _they_ had brought.

Cassidy glanced over at Ben and Natasha, who were slowly rolling over and opening their packs to retrieve some of their food. They'd left the fish out in the open, assuming the freezing temperatures would keep it fresh. Together, the three of them finished off what remained of her own peanuts and Juliska's fig bars, but none of them touched Isadore's cookies, or even his pack. What if he came back? What would he think if they simply rummaged through his food while he was gone?

It would be different if they were starving. If his food was their only option. But it wasn't. He'd given his map of the island to Ben the day before, and Ben was already beginning to unfold it. Already considering what their next move should be.

Cassidy quickly joined him. He had the right idea. There wasn't anything to be gained by staying here – not permanently. They could store their supplies here, maybe. Between the three of them, they could find a good hiding spot, and she could cover it in snow. But simply waiting here to be attacked again – that didn't sound good. They needed a goal, or they would simply sit here reevaluating everything that had already gone wrong. And it wouldn't do any of them any good to focus on that.

Especially her.

Cassidy clenched her fists. That was what her coach had always told her. Evaluate what went wrong – but then move on. Don't dwell on it. But a mistake while she was surfing had never cost anyone their life. Juliska was _dead_. Isadore had left. Only she, Ben, and Natasha were left together.

They couldn't afford to make any more mistakes.

So what had been their mistake the day before? Maybe it had been waiting. Assuming that someone would simply walk into their trap. They couldn't simply wait around for someone to come to them. Maybe things would go better if they found someone else. If they had a _say_ in who they fought – and who they avoided. Maybe that was the answer.

Ben seemed to have come to the same conclusion. "The two who were hiding under the lake ran this way, I think." He pointed inland and to the north of the lake on the map. "We obviously don't want to run into them again. Isadore went this way."

"Maybe we should follow him," Natasha suggested.

Cassidy shook her head. "If he wants to come back, he will. If not … I don't think chasing after him will do any good. He already has too much of a head start."

Ben nodded his agreement. "I think we should head for the coast. At least that way, we'll be near water, even if we leave the lakes. We could follow the coast in either direction, but maybe if we head towards the mountain over here…"

Cassidy looked where he was pointing on the map, then up into the distance. At the mountain they'd decided to avoid the day before, heading for the lake instead. Ben had suggested then that the mountain might draw attention from the other contestants, but would the other contestants head for the mountain, or would they want to avoid it?

And which scenario would be better for them?

Either way, sticking to the coast seemed like a good plan. If push came to shove, she could use the water in the ocean as either a weapon or as cover. Then again, they'd thought the same thing about the lake. They couldn't necessarily assume that the water would be enough to protect them.

It took Cassidy a moment to realize Ben was watching her. Waiting for her input. But why was it up to her? It had been her decision to stay and fight at the lake, rather than leaving. And that had been a disaster. But maybe that was _why_ he was offering her the choice. He was giving her a chance to redeem herself. A chance to fix her mistake.

Nothing would ever really fix it, of course. No choice she made now would bring Juliska back. But maybe she could protect the rest of her group. "Let's head away from the mountain," she decided. "Anyone who already climbed it would be able to see us coming; we'd lose whatever element of surprise we might have on level ground. We need every advantage we can get."

 _Now that two of us are gone._ She didn't say the words, but Ben seemed to have heard them, nonetheless. He nodded. "Away from the mountain it is. Let's find a good place to hide some of our supplies. We should only bring what we think we'll need. We don't want to make ourselves a tempting target."

A tempting target. Would someone really attack the three of them, even in the hope of finding extra food? The backpacks all seemed to have either food or water in them. Surely no one would be that desperate yet.

Still, it was better to be safe. They quickly packed most of the fish into one of the backpacks, taking only a few along in one of the others. They filled their two bottles with water from the lake, hid the backpack under some snow, and set out.

She just hoped she'd made the right choice.

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

He just hoped they'd made the right choice.

John yawned a little, stretching in the early morning light. He and Victoria had made it safely through the night. Now that he thought about it, though, that wasn't particularly surprising. Why would anyone want to climb a mountain in a snowstorm at night?

Why had they wanted to climb a mountain at _all_?

John shook his head. He couldn't quite remember why it had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now that they were halfway up the mountain, they might as well keep going. Once they reached the top, they could figure out where to go from there.

He just hoped they could find some sort of food soon. The snow meant that at least they wouldn't die of thirst, but their raisins and crackers would only last so long. He hadn't seen any plants since they'd begun to climb higher, and there didn't appear to be many animals. Maybe they'd be able to see more from the top, but the mountain seemed to be covered in rocks.

Maybe there was a reason no one else was climbing it.

John shook the thought from his head. If they didn't find anything at the top of the mountain, they could always head back down again. They didn't have anything to lose but time. And hiking down the mountain would certainly be quicker than their trek up. John glanced over at Victoria, who was still sleeping soundly. They'd traded watches a couple times during the night, but, at some point, both of them must have fallen asleep.

John stretched his arms. No harm done. They were both alive – and now they would both be well-rested. They could set out again whenever they wanted; they could afford to take their time.

Victoria rolled over a little, opening her eyes. "Everything all right?"

John shrugged. "We're still alive. Bit of snow during the night, but no sign of anyone else."

"Good." But there was something else in her voice. Disappointment, almost. Had she been _expecting_ someone to find them?

Had she been _hoping_ someone would find them?

No. No, that was ridiculous. Why would Victoria be looking for a fight? She didn't have any reason to want to attack any of the other contestants. That was why they had decided to climb the mountain in the first place, wasn't it? Because the others probably wouldn't want to. Certainly all but the strongest contestants would avoid climbing a mountain.

 _Oh._

But that didn't make any sense. If one of the stronger contestants found them, that might not end well – for either of them. Sure, he could turn into a bear, but compared to some of the others' powers – especially ones that could be used from a distance – that might not be particularly helpful. And Victoria's power seemed to have something to do with persuasion. She'd simply told Ryden to relax, and he had. But she'd needed to get close. She'd needed to touch him. Her powers wouldn't do any good against someone who could strike at them from a distance.

And neither would his.

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

Staying in one place wasn't going to do them any good.

Austin slowly crawled out from under their tarp, careful not to wake the others. Not yet. They could afford to sleep a little longer, but he felt better keeping watch. If he saw someone coming, they could gather up their supplies and leave. Keep running, like they'd been doing since landing on the island.

But what else were they supposed to do? If they stayed in one place too long, someone might find them. Then again, the same was true now that there was a layer – however thin – of fallen snow on the ground. Wherever they went, they would leave tracks – tracks that any of the other contestants could use to find them.

Of course, the reverse was also true. They would be able to see the _other_ contestants' tracks. Maybe that would help them avoid the others. Austin glanced around in the early morning light. The only tracks so far belonged to Snowball, who clearly didn't mind the cold or the snow. Tracks leading away, tracks leading back, and then away again. Maybe the fox didn't like the idea of staying put any more than he did.

Jayden and Verona were stirring by the time Snowball returned, something clenched firmly in her jaws. Austin took a step back as the fox dumped it at his feet. Verona knelt down, examining what Austin could now see was some sort of dead animal. _Three_ dead animals, actually – small and furry. Almost like mice, but a little bigger. Verona stroked Snowball's head. "Good girl." Then she handed one of the creatures to Austin. "Breakfast, I guess."

Austin couldn't help a shudder as he took the creature by the tail. Were they supposed to eat them _raw_? But Verona was already retrieving the knife they'd been sent the night before. This probably wasn't what whoever had sent it had intended, but it was something. Austin held the third rodent out to Jayden. "One for each of us, I guess."

But Jayden backed away a little. "I'm—"

"A vegetarian," Austin finished. "Yeah, I noticed during training."

"Vegan," Jayden corrected. "Ever since I visited a slaughterhouse and … and I could hear the animals in my mind. You have no idea how that … how that feels. I just couldn't…"

Austin nodded. "Look, I get it. But if this is all we have—"

"We still have some raisins and nuts left," Verona interrupted, opening her pack and handing what remained of her nuts to Jayden. "You can have those for now, if you like, and later, if you decide you want a mouse—"

"Vole."

"Whatever. I'm sure Snowball can manage to find some more."

Jayden nodded. "Thanks."

Verona shrugged. "Don't thank me. You're the reason we have a fox as a friend in the first place." She carefully slipped the knife into the vole, starting to peel away some of the skin. Austin looked away. Were the animals safe to eat raw? Should they try to cook it first? Maybe, but would they be able to start a fire?

Did Verona really know what she was doing?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

She had no idea what she was doing.

Verona did her best to ignore the churning in her stomach as she sliced deeper into the vole, cutting away the fur and skin. There wasn't much meat, but there _was_ blood. More blood than she would have guessed would come from such a tiny creature. It was already all over her hands, dripping onto her clothes. But it was too late to stop now. The others already thought she knew what she was doing. That she was convinced the animal was safe to eat.

It was almost funny, now that she thought about it. They didn't care that she'd grown up in the city. That she'd never been hunting or even fishing. That the only place she'd seen animals like this was scurrying around in the basement. For whatever reason, they'd decided she knew what she was doing.

No. No, they hadn't decided that. _She_ had. Because someone had to. Someone had to look like they knew what they were doing, and no one else seemed to want the role. Verona wiped away some more of the blood before sinking her teeth into the vole and taking a bite. She chewed. Swallowed. Spat out some of the blood. It didn't taste good, but it was something. It would keep them from starving.

"Maybe we can figure out how to build a fire later," Austin suggested, taking the knife when she offered it and beginning to slice up his vole. Verona nodded, but she already knew it was a pointless suggestion. Even if they managed to find something that would burn – which seemed unlikely, since they hadn't found anything more than a few small shrubs the entire day before – it would almost certainly be damp. And they had no way to light anything. No way to keep a flame going in the snow even if they managed to light a fire.

But saying so would be just as pointless. Most likely, Austin knew exactly how silly the suggestion was. He was probably just trying to say _something_. Anything that might sound good. But he might as well have suggested that there might be a McDonald's around the next corner.

Verona took another bite, a tiny bone crunching between her teeth. At least they had Snowball to help them hunt. Catching the voles would have been much more difficult on their own. And if the voles were the largest prey available on the island, finding food was going to be a full-time job.

Maybe that was a good thing, though. If finding food was difficult, that meant that the other contestants wouldn't be able to find it easily, either. If the rest of the island was as barren as the parts they'd explored – a little grass, a little moss, patches of shrubbery here and there – then the others would have just as hard a time finding food. Maybe more, since _they_ didn't have a fox on their side. Maybe the lack of food actually gave them an advantage.

That certainly wasn't something she'd expected.

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

They hadn't really expected to feel safe in the arena.

Monet rolled over, smiling a little as they crawled out from underneath their parachute. They and Penelope had traded watches throughout the night, and gotten about as much sleep as they could hope to. The snow had finally stopped, and the wind had died down during the night. Maybe things weren't so bad.

A glance at the body in the distance, however, was enough to bring the reality of the Games back. The body of the boy who had attacked them still lay where they had left it. A reminder that, even now, they weren't completely safe. But, as strange as it felt to trust a twelve-year-old with their life, Monet couldn't shake the feeling that this was the safest place to be in the Games.

Penelope, meanwhile, was already rummaging through their backpacks, retrieving what was left of their food. It wasn't much – a little of their crackers and granola bars. They'd finished the dried apples the night before. "We'll have to see if we can find more food soon," Penelope pointed out.

Monet nodded. "What about the ocean? If we can find a way to catch some fish, that might last a while."

Penelope nodded. "That sounds like a good plan. But we'll have to be careful. If we get too wet…" She let the words hang in the air. Wet and cold wasn't a good combination. If they got too wet, they could die. But maybe the fact that it was so cold now was a good thing. Maybe that meant the other contestants would play it safe and avoid the water.

Maybe they had the right idea.

But it was too late to back out now. Going fishing had been _their_ suggestion. Penelope was already moving closer to the cliff, as if trying to decide where the best spot would be to jump down. She'd made it down safely before using her powers, but it would be best not to land in the water. Maybe there was some place with a bit of shoreline below…

"There." Penelope pointed off to the right. "That looks almost like a beach. Let's head that way and see about breakfast."

Breakfast. Fish for breakfast. Monet nodded. That didn't sound so bad. Right now, it certainly sounded better than crackers and granola bars. But how was Penelope planning on catching fish? Maybe they could make a net out of one of their parachutes. But how would they use it without getting wet themselves? Would there even be fish in the shallow water when it was this cold?

 _Stop it._ The MAAB wouldn't have chosen this island as their arena if there was no way to get food. They wanted the contestants to kill each other, after all, not starve to death. They would find some food. They would eat breakfast. And then they would figure out what to do next.

Monet followed Penelope along the edge of the cliff. If nothing else, it was a good excuse to get away from the boy's body. He was dead – they were sure of that – but the body still made them uneasy. It was a reminder of the reason they were there. The fact that only one of them was going to make it out of the arena alive. And the fact that they felt safe around Penelope … well, that wouldn't help if they were the only two left.

But that was a long way away.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

She could only hope the other contestants were a long way away.

Clara glanced over at Parker, who was still sleeping soundly despite the cold. They'd traded shifts a few times during the night, but this was the first time Parker had seemed to actually be fast asleep. Neither of them had been able to sleep for a long time after the cracking noise they'd heard in the distance. But, finally, she'd been too tired to worry about what might be out there, and, apparently, Parker had eventually come to the same conclusion.

And they were still alive.

Clara shook her head as she glanced around at the snow. One day in the arena, and they were still alive. But was that really much to be celebrating? Ryden was dead, yes, but how many others? How many of the other contestants were still alive? They had no way of knowing. No way to tell exactly how far along the Games were. And if they didn't know that, there was no way they could guess how much longer they might have to survive.

So they needed to find food. They still had a few fig bars and two cookies left, but those wouldn't last them long. Her stomach was already starting to protest the meager rations they'd allowed themselves the day before. After Ryden's death, she hadn't really wanted to think about eating. But now … now it was all starting to catch up to her. Chances were, when Parker woke, she'd agree. Finding food needed to be their first priority.

Especially now that they had water. Well, they had _snow_. But that was close enough. Clara scooped up some of the snow and pressed it to her lips. The snow melted quickly in her hands. Maybe it wasn't a very efficient way to drink, but it was something. They wouldn't die of thirst as long as they had plenty of snow.

Clara couldn't help a chuckle. She hadn't really imagined they would end up being grateful for snow. Then again, a few days ago, she wouldn't have imagined any of this. She would never have guessed she would be trapped in an island death match with twenty-nine other mutants.

No. No, not that many. Not anymore. Exactly how many were dead, she didn't know, but it was at least a few. Maybe more. Whatever their chances were now, they were better than they had been the day before.

Clara shook her head. _Their_ chances weren't better. _Her_ chances were better. Because, in the end, _her_ chances were what mattered. Parker wasn't going to survive this. _Couldn't_ survive this, if Clara wanted to go home. Parker would have to die.

Clara glanced away from the parachute. Away from her friend. Parker didn't have to die _yet_. But even thinking about it – about the possibility of her friend's death – made Clara cringe. Ryden was already dead, and that was bad enough. Losing Parker, too … could she really handle that?

But the alternative was worse. Thinking about her _own_ death … No, that wasn't something she wanted, either. And given the choice between her life and Parker's…

But that wasn't a choice she had to make. Not yet. Chances were, it wasn't a choice she would ever have to make. What were the odds that the Games would come down to her and Parker?

If they did, though, Clara knew, it wouldn't be much of a fight. Parker could sense and influence people's emotions. That wasn't going to do her much good in a fight – not against someone who could take control of her body. Maybe emotions could make a person want to fight, but it was their bodies that did the actual fighting.

That was a fight she would win.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

This was a fight he could win.

Hadley took a deep breath, concentrating as hard as he could on the ground below him. The snow flew as the ground shifted this way and that, rising and falling as if the earth itself was breathing. Something scurried out of its burrow, terrified – right into Rosalind's hands. "I got it!" Rosalind called, grinning. "I got one!"

Hadley grinned, and the ground began to settle a little. They'd already finished their cookies and granola bars, and, not wanting to return to the lake, had decided to see if there was anything to eat underground. The creature in Rosalind's hands was small but plump. And it was certainly better than nothing.

The creature gave a high-pitched squeal, squirming in Rosalind's grasp. "Shh," Rosalind whispered, squeezing, and, almost immediately, the creature went silent. Hadley took a step closer as Rosalind squeezed harder. "I think … I think it's dead," she whispered.

Hadley nodded. "Nice work. Let's get a few more, and we'll have breakfast."

"So we just … eat them raw?"

Hadley smiled. "We won't have to." He reached down, and the soil around them began to bubble. Something warm was rising out of the earth. Something hot.

Rosalind gasped as she took a step back. Steam was rising from the crack in the ground, and, below it, they could see something glowing. "Did you just … make a pit of fire?"

Hadley stared. That wasn't quite what he'd meant to do. He'd only meant to make a small fire. But the heat rising from the ground was growing more intense. "I think so. Wish I'd thought of that last night."

Rosalind giggled. "Hey, at least we won't freeze now."

Hadley nodded. "Let's see if it's hot enough to cook this rat."

"Vole."

"What?"

"I think it's a vole. We used to see them when we went camping – my family and me, that is. It's a different species, but … close enough."

Hadley chuckled. "All right, then. Let's see if we can cook this vole, and then find some more." Rosalind smiled back. They weren't going to freeze. They weren't going to starve.

Hadley shook his head as another vole fled from its burrow, frightened by the sudden rise in temperature. It was quickly followed by another, and then another. Soon, they had enough for breakfast – and then some. Rosalind caught the little creatures as quickly as she could, squeezing them painlessly to death and stopping their squealing. Not a bad use of her power.

Maybe things weren't so bad, after all.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

Maybe they'd made the right choice, after all.

Ben glanced at Cassidy and Natasha as the three of them continued on, keeping close to the coast, avoiding the smoke in the distance. They'd noticed it a little while ago – a column of smoke rising high into the air. But it hadn't taken them long to decide not to investigate. Anyone who was that unconcerned with being spotted by the other contestants probably wasn't someone they wanted to run into.

 _Stick to the plan._ Their plan had been to explore the coast. To stay close to the water in case they were found. Cassidy's powers would be more use closer to the water, and, if push came to shove, Natasha might be able to get them down to the shore safely. It was maybe fifteen or twenty feet down, and not as steep as it had been when they'd first reached the coast.

Ben clenched his fists as his gaze strayed once more to the smoke in the distance. There was a part of him that wanted to go, anyway. That wanted to find out who was there. Whoever it was, they could either create fire or had found some other way to start it. And finding any sort of kindling seemed unlikely in this weather. Cassidy had some matches in her backpack, but they were useless without a way to light them. He hadn't seen any trees as they'd parachuted onto the island. Maybe there was enough brush to light a fire, but surely it would all be damp from the snow.

 _Don't worry about it._ Whoever was over there, they weren't his problem. Not unless they decided to head towards the coast, which seemed unlikely. Anyone who had found a good place to stay would probably stay put. Wouldn't they?

Then again, _they_ weren't staying put, despite having found a good spot by the lake. They were out exploring. So what made him think that others wouldn't be? Maybe the smoke was a distraction. Maybe the other contestants were actually somewhere else entirely. It was a good plan – if it was, in fact, a plan. Or maybe they were _trying_ to be spotted, trying to draw other contestants in, trying to lure them into a trap.

All the more reason not to go.

"You're curious, aren't you," Natasha observed. "About who might be over there."

Ben nodded. "Of course. But not curious enough to risk our lives. Whoever's over there might be trying to set a trap."

Natasha shrugged. "So were we. Didn't work out so well, did it?"

"But we weren't _trying_ to attract people. We just happened to notice that someone was coming. If it is a trap, they've had more time to prepare. We don't want to walk into that sort of trap."

"We don't want to walk into _any_ sort of trap," Cassidy pointed out. "But maybe … well, maybe better one we can see than one we can't."

Ben shook his head. "I don't think so. Besides, what if other contestants have the same idea? There could be two or three groups heading for that smoke right now. We don't want to get caught up in the middle of something like that."

Natasha shrugged. "So we wait."

"Exactly. We wait. Let them fight it out – if that's what's going to happen. After a while, if there's still smoke, then maybe … well, maybe go and see who's left."

Cassidy nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

She wished she could say she had a plan.

Victoria shook her head as she and John set out again, making their way up the mountain towards … what? What did she really think she was going to find up there? It had seemed like a good idea a day ago. But a day ago, they'd had plenty of food. They had plenty of water now that there was a fresh layer of snow, but they'd just finished the last of their raisins and crackers for breakfast. It was only a matter of time before they would have to find something else.

Victoria drummed her fingers on her leg as they continued. "Maybe we should—" she started, but John was staring at something else. Something in the distance, on the other side of the mountain. Smoke, rising from … something. A fire? Did that mean there were other contestants in that direction?

Probably. A fire wouldn't simply start on its own. Not here, in the snow. So either someone was there, or they _had_ been recently. "Maybe we should head that way," Victoria offered. It wasn't what she had been about to say, but the idea of a fire – of _anything_ warm, really – was too good to resist. "If they've found a way to start a fire, they might have something useful."

John shrugged. "Or maybe starting fires is just what they do."

Maybe. But if that was the case, why were they only seeing smoke now? It had been cold yesterday, too. Sure, there was snow now, but that should have made it _harder_ to start a fire. Victoria shrugged. "Can't hurt to find out."

"It might," John pointed out. "We don't know how many of them there might be. There are only two of us."

"But they don't know that."

"They will if we go that way. They'll be able to see us coming a mile away. It might be a trap. It might—"

Victoria clutched John's hand tightly, meeting his gaze. "It might be a good idea."

"It might be a good idea," John repeated. "After all, if they're lighting a fire _now_ , maybe it means they've found food. Maybe they've found some sort of animal or something and decided to cook it."

 _Perfect._ "Even better. I'm hungry. What about you?"

"Starving."

Not quite. They weren't quite starving. Not yet. But unless they found food soon, they might. And she had no intention of getting to that point. "Head for the fire, then?" Victoria asked with a smile.

John nodded obediently. "Let's go."

Victoria smiled as they changed course – heading along the side of the mountain rather than up it. There was no harm in finding out who had set a fire. If it turned out to be someone dangerous, they could always head the other way. Or, if push came to shove, she could instruct John to attack while she made her escape. She didn't _want_ to – not yet. But it was always good to have a backup plan.

Maybe she knew what she was doing, after all.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 27  
** **Coach**

He had no idea what he was doing.

Vincent took a deep breath. Even the air felt different in the dreamland. Maybe it was the fact that there was no wind. Would his powers work here even if there was? Maybe. He had no way of knowing. He wasn't even sure whether or not Diana would know he was here. He and Maria had been taking turns sleeping ever since Alvin turned Ian's collar off. But whether Diana was having any luck – or whether she would be able to find him again even if she did – he had no idea.

"Ian!" A voice in the distance shook him from his thoughts. "Ian! Maria! Vincent!" Suddenly, he saw something through the fog. Two figures, approaching quickly. Almost flying. Diana and…

Vincent swallowed hard as they approached. The man beside Diana wasn't quite what he'd imagined. He'd imagined someone more frightening, perhaps. More intimidating. Someone who didn't look quite so old, quite so tired. Still, now that he was here, Vincent was absolutely certain. This was the man they'd been looking for. "Erik. Magneto. Please, we need your help."

"Who are you? What's happening?"

Vincent glanced at Diana. "You didn't tell him?"

Diana shook her head. "I got through 'teenage mutant death match' before he asked for proof, and I figured I'd see if any of you three were here. Where's Ian?"

Vincent shook his head. "Can't sleep without his collar on. You'll have to make do with me for now." He turned back to Erik. "My name's Vincent Reid. I teach … taught at Professor Xavier's school."

A hint of a smile appeared on Erik's face. "So some of you did survive. That's the best news I've had in weeks." Vincent's surprise must have shown on his face, because Erik continued. "I'm sure it's no secret that Charles and I had our differences, but I don't relish the thought of losing any of my mutant brothers and sisters, however misguided their ideals. I had hoped that some of you survived, but there have been … conflicting reports of what happened that night."

Vincent nodded. "The Sentinels attacked without warning. Some of us destroyed Cerebro and the school's records while the others fought the Sentinels off. Three of us were taken prisoner; I don't know how many others might have escaped."

"Three of you," Erik repeated. "Diana here seemed to suggest there were more."

"There are. The government collected them from all across the country, and they're being forced to participate in a fight to the death. The three of us are their … well, their coaches. There were thirty of them at the start, but now there are only twenty-two left."

"After how long?"

"A day of the Games themselves. If you're going to help us, you have to do something soon, or there won't be anyone left to save."

For a moment, Erik said nothing. Studying him, perhaps. Weighing whether he could trust what Vincent was saying. "Where are you?"

"An island, somewhere off the coast of Alaska."

"Alaska."

"Yes."

"That's not very specific."

"I'm sorry. They haven't given us many details. We do know that there are Sentinels guarding the island."

"They're expecting an attack?"

"They're being careful. They don't want anything to go wrong. They're planning to show the Games on television once they're finished. They'll use it to turn public opinion against mutants."

Erik scoffed. "Turn it? There is nothing to turn. Humans have always hated and feared us. They always will."

"Maybe you're right," Vincent admitted. "Maybe you were always right. Now isn't the time for that debate. If the Games go as planned, it could give the government the excuse they need to enact harsher laws against mutants. Fear that once simmered below the surface could explode into hatred and violence. Please … can you help us?"

"I don't know." Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but Erik held up his hand. "I don't know whether we _can_ help. I don't know whether we'll be able to find you in time. Whether we'll be able to make it past the Sentinels even if we do. Whether any of you will be left by the time we get there. But I do know that we'll try."

"We?"

"I am not alone, either, my young friend. There are not many of us, but we will do what we can."

Diana took a step towards them. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Erik shook his head. "Thank _you_ , my dear, for arranging this meeting. Your gift is … truly remarkable. If we arrive in time, I hope you'll be there to—"

"I'm afraid not." Diana looked away. "I'm already … I … my powers apparently still work even after I'm … dead."

Erik's gaze hardened a little. "And your friend – the one who helped you find me."

"Tariq."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Tariq was helping you?"

Diana nodded. "He disappeared. I was hoping maybe he just woke up, but—"

Vincent shook his head. "He was killed in his sleep."

Tears filled Diana's eyes as the fog seemed to grow thicker. "I should have let him wake up. He wanted to stay, but…"

Vincent laid a hand on her shoulder. "He made his choice, then. A choice that may have just saved lives." He turned to Erik. "Diana Pierri. Tariq Qasim. Remember their names."

"I will. I'll have to consult with the others, but I'll be in touch soon. Diana knows where to find me now." He fell silent for a moment, hesitating. As if there was something he wanted to ask. Something they'd both been avoiding. "You said three of you were taken prisoner, but that others may have escaped. Do you know … Did Charles survive?"

Vincent looked away, tears brimming in his eyes. "No," he whispered.

Silence. But then Vincent felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Erik beside him. "You were there."

"Yes. The three of us. We tried to protect him, but … he stopped us. He didn't want us to die trying to save him."

"No, I don't suppose he would."

"The Sentinel shot him. I saw him die – _felt_ him die. But he told me … just before the end, he told me to find you. _Find Erik_. He knew you could help us. He _trusted_ you, in the end. And that … that's good enough for me." He reached up and grasped Erik's hand. "Help us. Find us."

Erik couldn't hide a hint of a smile. "Your trust is … a rare thing."

"It's all we have right now," Vincent admitted. "It's either hope that you'll find a way to help us … or accept that twenty-nine young mutants are going to die while we can do nothing but sit here and watch. We _have_ to hope. It's not brave. It's not noble." He shook his head.

"It's all we have left."

* * *

" _He seems to genuinely want to help you. And that's a rare thing, for people like us."_


	26. A Glimpse

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the most recent poll are up on the blog. New poll up on my profile, this time asking who you _want_ to see in the final ten. Again, feel free to vote for your own if they're still alive, but please don't _only_ vote for your own, and please do actually vote for _ten_ contestants. And, as usual, **read the chapter first** because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

* * *

 **A Glimpse**

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **March 21st, 11:14 AKST**

"Should we be worried about that?"

Nicholas glanced over at Hans, who was watching the screen, his forehead wrinkled together and his eyes narrowed. "Worried about what?" Mack asked casually. "So a few of the groups are headed in the same direction – towards Hadley and Rosalind. That's what we wanted, right?"

Nicholas nodded. On the surface, it was what they wanted. John and Victoria had decided to head towards the smoke that was rising from the pit Hadley had formed in the ground. Piper and Akil were headed in the same direction. Whether they were intentionally headed towards the smoke or simply wandering in the direction by chance, Nicholas wasn't sure, but they were moving slowly. John and Victoria would probably reach the other two first.

Maybe that was the idea. Maybe they'd decided to do what Ben, Cassidy, and Natasha had talked about – head towards the smoke and hope the others finished each other off first, then move in to clean up what was left and maybe make off with some supplies. Ben's group had avoided the idea both because they'd already lost two members and because they weren't really in _need_ of supplies. Akil and Piper, on the other hand…

But Hans shook his head. "I'm not worried about the contestants. I meant the ground. The island. Should we be concerned with the stress that a lava pit suddenly opening in the middle of an island full of ice puts on—"

"Probably," Alvin interrupted, leaning back in his chair. "But what are you going to do about it? Turn on his collar, and the lava pit might very well just stay where it is. Besides, this _is_ what you wanted – or, at least, what you're _pretending_ you wanted: mutants interacting with their environment. That has consequences. If he accidentally blows up the island … well, you'll have your winner that much sooner."

Judah snorted. "Not exactly the grand finale we were expecting."

"None of this has gone as expected," Lillian pointed out. "We need to be ready for anything."

Nicholas turned to Hans. "If the island loses stability…"

"Stability," Alvin chuckled wryly. "The island never had _stability_."

Lillian glared. "We chose it specifically because—"

"Oh, it's _geologically_ stable, yes. For now, at least. But as soon as we dumped thirty kids on it and told them to fight to the death, the whole damn system became an unstable mess."

Mack sighed. "Yes. And that's what we _wanted_. We _want_ them to be unstable."

"No," Alvin said quietly, closing his good eye. "No, you don't. But it's too late for that. Too late to reconsider what we really want. Too late to change our minds." He shook his head.

"It's too late for all of us."

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

It was too late to change her mind.

Victoria glanced over at John as the pair of them crept closer and closer to the smoke, which was still rising in the distance. Whoever had lit a fire either wasn't concerned about people finding them … or they _wanted_ someone to. Maybe it was a trap. But if it _was_ , she couldn't think of anyone better to be walking into a trap with. Given the choice between targeting her or going after someone who could change into a bear at whim, she knew which one she would pick.

Victoria laid a hand softly on John's arm, and he turned to look at her. _Perfect_. He was already learning. "Maybe you should change into a bear now – just in case." Just in case someone was watching, trying to figure out which of them was the greater threat. Just in case they were being targeted at this very moment.

John nodded, and, without hesitation, began to transform. Nothing happened. No attack came. If this was, in fact, a trap, it wasn't a very good one. Maybe they simply hadn't gotten close enough yet. Or maybe…

Maybe it wasn't a trap at all. Maybe whoever had lit a fire simply didn't _care_ about being found. Which could mean one of two things. Either they were confident that they could handle anyone who might approach, or they didn't care whether they lived or died. Either of those things could be dangerous.

Closer. Closer. Still, no one seemed to notice them. Victoria fell back a little behind John, but there didn't seem to be any need for caution. When, at last, they saw two figures in the distance, neither of them appeared to be looking their way. In fact, they were sitting on the ground and seemed to be … eating? Could it be they had simply lit a fire to cook their food and hadn't even thought about the smoke?

Could they really get that lucky?

* * *

 **Rosalind Hennrikus, 14**

How had they not noticed the smoke?

"Damn it," Rosalind muttered quietly as she caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye – two figures, moving quickly towards them. She pointed, but Hadley simply shrugged, completely unconcerned. As if two contestants – and one of them a bear – couldn't possibly pose a threat.

Maybe they didn't – not to him, at least. And maybe the incident at the lake had been enough to convince him that no one would be stupid enough to mess with them again. But these two hadn't been at the lake. They didn't _know_ what Hadley could do. Hell, _she_ barely knew what Hadley could do. She'd never imagined that he could open a fissure in the ground and create lava simply by wishing it. With that sort of power, maybe he was right to be so unconcerned.

But was she?

Hadley turned towards the two approaching figures, who were moving steadily closer. A bear and a girl, Rosalind could see at last. The bear, she knew, was probably John, the boy who had attacked Jayden during training. She didn't remember the girl's name, but the bear seemed to be the bigger threat right now.

Then again, they would probably assume the same thing about Hadley.

And they were probably right. Her power, after all, was simply not causing pain. That might be good for sneaking up on someone unnoticed, but right now, they had everything _but_ the element of surprise. She would just have to hope that Hadley could handle them.

Hadley took a step towards them, the ground rippling as he walked. "We don't want any trouble. Just leave us alone, and we'll … we'll do the same."

"We don't want any trouble, either," the girl echoed. "But we're just so hungry, and you seem to have plenty of … whatever those are." She nodded towards their pile of toasted voles. "If you could just give us a few, I'm sure we'd leave without a fuss."

Rosalind looked up at Hadley. He seemed to be considering it. He didn't want a fight any more than she did. He knelt down to pick up a few of the voles.

Then the bear charged.

* * *

 **John Knox, 21**

He didn't have time to think.

John growled as he charged, his mind racing. No, that wasn't quite right. He had plenty of _time_. Plenty of time to slow down. To stop charging. To run away. But it was as if he _couldn't_ think. Couldn't _do_ anything besides what Victoria had suggested. So he charged and, as quickly as he could, wrapped his teeth around the girl's throat.

Victoria had been certain, after all, that it was the girl who was the real threat. Why would an older contestant team up with someone so young if her power _wasn't_ something formidable. But the girl offered no resistance – nothing but a scream as he dug his claws into her flesh.

It all happened in a second. "Rosalind!" the boy screamed, and, with a swipe of his hand, John went flying – flying towards Victoria and slamming into her. They both fell, but, instead of hitting the ground, the ground seemed to melt beneath them. He was sinking – sinking deep into the ground, until only his bear's head remained. A quick glance to his left told him Victoria was trapped, as well.

 _So much for the girl being the greater threat._

"Let us go!" Victoria shouted, but it was useless. It was as if the boy couldn't even hear her. Maybe he couldn't. He knelt beside the girl, cradling her body, muttering something that John couldn't hear. John growled quietly – whether at the boy, at Victoria, or at himself, he wasn't sure. Why had Victoria told him to attack a little girl?

Why had he _listened_?

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

Why hadn't he _listened_?

Hadley held Rosalind close as she coughed weakly, blood spurting from the wound in her neck. "It'll be all right," he whispered. "I'll make this all right. I can—"

"No." Rosalind's voice was weak. "No, you can't. There's nothing you can do. But Hadley. Listen to me. You can't … can't lose …"

"I won't," Hadley promised. "I'll win. There's nothing they can do. Nothing any of them can do." He could feel something surging inside him. Begging to be released. Power, simmering just below the surface. Power the others couldn't imagine.

Rosalind shook her head. "No. You can't lose—" She closed her eyes.

Hadley screamed, and, with that sound, something snapped. He leapt to his feet, the ground beneath him and even the air around him shaking. As if the island itself was trembling in fear. And it was right to. It was right to be afraid. _They_ were right to be afraid.

 _They_. Hadley turned to face the other two contestants, still buried to their necks in the earth. "You!" He waved a hand, and the ground around the bear melted away – all except the earth trapping his feet. Hadley clenched his fists, and the ground began to boil. The bear squealed in pain. Hadley closed his eyes. _Good._ Good. Soon, the bear's body was enveloped in flames. He couldn't see it, but he could _feel_ it. He could feel it all around him. _Inside_ him.

 _Let go_.

The ground started to swirl around him. Chunks of grass and rock and bits of lava circled about him, forming a sort of whirlwind. But it didn't harm him. _Couldn't_ harm him. He was in the eye of the storm. He _was_ the eye of the storm. The heart of the storm itself. Nothing could harm him again.

Hadley laughed. A long, loud laugh. He could hear the girl screaming. He wasn't quite sure what the storm was doing to her. But he didn't care. She didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Rosalind had mattered, but Rosalind was gone.

Only now did he realize what she had been trying to say. _You can't lose_ , she had said, but she hadn't been talking about the Games. That wasn't what she had meant. _You can't lose control_. That was what she had been trying to say.

But it was too late for that.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

It was too late to turn around.

Akil swallowed hard, clutching Piper's hand as the pair of them stared at the whirlwind. They had been following the column of smoke in the hope of finding food, but they'd clearly found more than they'd bargained for. "Let's get out of here," Piper whispered.

Akil clutched her hand tighter. Part of him wanted to do exactly what she was suggesting. To run without looking back. To get as far away from the storm – and whoever was responsible for it – as possible. But how long would they be able to outrun a tornado, if that was, in fact, what it was? What if whoever was inside could control the weather? Maybe that was their power. What if they could destroy the whole island before anyone else had a chance to react?

What if _this_ was their only chance to stop them?

"We can't go," Akil whispered, and Piper nodded. She understood. Her face was pale and her hands were trembling, but she understood what they had to do. They had to stop the storm, or it would only grow. And, to do that, they would probably have to kill whoever was inside.

But how?

"Let me get a closer look," Piper offered, and, before he'd even nodded in agreement, Akil's stomach lurched, letting him know she had used her power. "There are two people inside the storm," she reported. A boy and a girl. The boy's controlling it. That's all I could really see before…"

"Before you died," Akil finished.

"Yeah. So now we know not to just rush at it."

"Could've figured that out on my own."

"Fastest way to get information," Piper shrugged.

"But what good does that do us?"

"If it's just one person, he should be easier to distract."

"With what?"

"Another storm. A dragon. A dinosaur. Whatever you want to create. Control it from back here, and you'll be safe. You district him, and I'll sneak in and—"

"And _what_? You don't have any weapons."

"Shit."

"Yeah. The other boy was asleep. What are you going to do against someone who can see you coming?"

Piper's gaze flew back and forth between Akil and a crack in the ground, which was still brimming with smoke. Quickly, she tossed her backpack to the ground and pulled off her jacket, balling it up in her hands.

"I have an idea."

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

It wasn't much of an idea.

Piper gripped her jacket tightly as she knelt down, inching her way towards the hole in the ground. Looking forward a few seconds – all she could manage with the storm distracting her – and then proceeding. Looking, crawling. Looking, crawling. It was slow, maybe. But it was better than dying.

So far, the boy hadn't noticed her. He hadn't even seemed to notice Akil or whatever it was he was creating. At the center of the storm, the boy's eyes were closed. As if he didn't really know what was happening – or maybe didn't care. Maybe that would be enough.

If it wasn't, she would probably die. Akil would probably die. Maybe everyone on the whole damn island would die, and the Games would end right now – after little more than a day. That didn't seem like what the MAAB would want – for them all to be slaughtered by a rogue contestant with a tornado – but there wasn't really anything they could do to stop it.

No. No, there _was_ something the MAAB could do. If they didn't want the boy to win, they could always turn on his collar. But they hadn't. Which meant either they didn't care if he won, or they thought she and Akil had a chance of stopping him. Of killing him.

Piper crawled a little farther. They thought she could do this. Maybe. Or maybe they simply didn't care. But, right now, that 'maybe' was enough. Maybe she really had a chance. Maybe…

She dipped her jacket in the hole.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

That was the signal.

Akil nodded to Piper as she dipped her jacket in the hole. That was the plan – or, at least, part of the plan. Hopefully, whatever was smoking inside the hole would be hot enough to catch her jacket on fire. Then she could use it as a weapon. But first he had to do his part. He had to lure the boy over to her.

The reverse – her going to him – wasn't an option. The winds were swirling too fast, lifting pieces of the ground and rocks along with them. She would never make it through – she'd seen that much. But if Akil brought him to her…

So far, though, his illusions hadn't even been enough to get the boy's attention. Dragons had been blown out of the sky and dinosaurs swept off their feet, seemingly without so much as a thought from the boy inside the whirlwind. What was he supposed to do to lure the boy _anywhere_ when he didn't seem to care about what was happening around him?

 _Think._

Okay. The storm was new. He would have noticed a giant storm this close to them the day before, or even an hour before. The storm had started _after_ the smoke. So whatever had happened to set the boy off, it had been recent. Fresh.

What would make him go off like this?

 _Oh._

Akil glanced around frantically, this time searching the ground for anything the boy had left untouched. Sure enough, near the center of the storm was a patch of ground that the winds hadn't ripped up in the slightest. And, at the center of that patch, a body. A girl's body.

So that was the key.

Akil held up his hands, shielding his face as he stepped a little closer. A little more. Close enough to focus his illusion on that patch of earth. This time, though, it wasn't a dinosaur or a dragon or any sort of monster. It was a dog – just a simple dog – coming to tear up the patch of ground. Dogs were always easier to control. And maybe less likely to draw the same amount of fury…

Sure enough, as soon as the dog started digging around the girl's body, the storm focused in that direction. Akil held out his hand. _Come here, boy._ The dog sprinted towards him – then towards where his hand was pointing. Towards Piper.

Suddenly, something was wrong. Something was burning. "Akil!" Piper screamed. Maybe she had seen it in advance, but she was too late. Too late to do anything as Akil's right hand burst into flames, along with the illusion of the dog. Akil sank to the ground, cradling his arm. But now the boy's attention – or, at least, the storm – was focused on where the dog had been running. It was focused on Piper.

And there was nothing he could do.

* * *

 **Hadley Cadolyn, 17**

There was nothing he could do.

Hadley couldn't help a laugh as he watched the boy sink to the ground in agony, clutching the stump where his hand used to be. He could worry about that later. After he dealt with the girl who was crouched by the pit of fire.

That wouldn't take long.

Or, at least, it wouldn't if the storm would actually _listen_ to him. Every time he tried to direct it, it seemed, the winds simply spiraled out of control. Not a problem, maybe. It wasn't as if she could get close. Wasn't as if she could do anything to hurt him.

That didn't stop her from trying, though. Left with nothing else to do now that his attention was focused on her, she staggered to her feet, with something in her hands. A jacket, he realized – burning with fire from the lava. Clever, maybe, if he was stupid enough to let her get close. But completely useless from a distance.

And he had no intention of letting her get close.

The girl stumbled forward, anyway, swaying in the wind, waving her burning jacket back and forth, trying futilely to strike him. Hadley swung his arm, and the flame was snuffed out. Smoke rose from the girl's head, though, and she fell to the ground, clutching her face and screaming. Screaming so loudly, he almost didn't notice the rope around his neck.

 _Wait._

The rope squeezed. Tighter. Tighter. But who was holding it? Gasping, choking, Hadley turned to look, only to see the other girl – the one who had been with the bear. She held on tightly, even as the wind swirled around her. Hadley's hands flew to his neck, clutching at the rope, trying to summon the storm, trying to instruct it to stop her.

But it didn't listen. _Wouldn't_ listen. Maybe the lack of air was making him lose focus. Maybe the storm simply wouldn't obey. Hadley fell to his knees. Was this how the others had felt? Powerless? Weak? He'd never felt that way before.

Was this how Rosalind had felt?

Rosalind. Hadley closed his eyes. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Maybe he would see her again. Or maybe he wouldn't see _anything_ again. Maybe it didn't matter.

Maybe it never had.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

It was as if the storm had never happened.

Victoria fell to her knees as the wind died down, the pieces of ground slowly settling back into place, the crack in the earth closing once more. It was over. The boy was dead.

And she was still alive.

Alive. That was all that mattered. The rest could wait. Her whole body ached, and her head felt as if someone had smashed it against a wall, but she was _alive_. That was more than she could say for the boy in front of her. More than she could say for John. And the others…

The others. The pair who had come along and distracted the boy long enough for her to make her move. Long enough for her to retrieve the coil of rope from her backpack and loop it around the boy's neck. That was all the time she'd needed, and they had provided it. Maybe she should be grateful. Maybe _they_ would be grateful.

All she really wanted to do, though, was run – as fast as she could. Away from them. Away from everyone. Away from this whole damn island and the Games and maybe even her own powers. Fat lot of good they had done her, in the end. Even if she'd managed to get ahold of the boy in the storm, even if she'd managed to get him to look at her, would he really have done as she'd asked? Would he have been _able_ to? In the end, he hadn't seemed to have much control over the storm at all. Even if she'd told him to stop it, would he have been _able_ to?

Probably not. So she had killed him. Simple as that. Victoria slowly got to her feet. Maybe it _was_ that simple, in the end. He was dead. She was alive.

That was all she needed to know.

"Are you all right?" The voice caught her by surprise. It was the boy, already on his feet despite his missing hand. The stump where it had been only moments before was charred and black, but, aside from that, he didn't seem too badly hurt.

Victoria nodded and opened her mouth to speak. _I'm all right._ That was what she meant to say. But all that came out was a rasping cough. Victoria's eyes widened as she tried again. And again. Still, nothing came out.

The boy nodded a little, laying his good hand on her shoulder. "Okay. It's okay. Just rest. Probably got the wind knocked out of you. You'll get your voice back in a little while."

But he didn't sound so sure.

Tears came to Victoria's eyes. What was she supposed to do now? If she couldn't speak, her power was useless. How was she supposed to control him if she couldn't give him instructions? How was she supposed to control _anyone_?

But the boy's attention was already focused on his friend – on the other girl who still lay on the ground, groaning softly as they approached. The boy knelt at her side, his face pale. "Piper? Are you all right?"

The girl shook her head, her face buried in her hands. "No. No, I saw it coming, but I couldn't stop it. I had to keep him distracted. I saw what she was about to do, and I had to let her do it, but I couldn't stop him from—"

The boy grasped her shoulder tightly with his good hand. "Piper. Piper, it's okay. Look at me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can, Piper. Look at me. It's over. It's all right."

"No." The girl opened her eyes, now charred black, like the stump of the boy's missing hand. "I can't. I really can't." She shook her head.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

What was she supposed to do now?

Piper clutched Akil's hand tightly, focusing for a moment. And, for a moment, it all came back. He was kneeling over her, along with another girl. The one she had seen through the storm. The one with the rope.

But then the vision snapped. She couldn't concentrate. Not for long. Not yet. She needed to rest, but how could she? How could any of them rest now?

"It's okay," Akil repeated. "We'll figure this out."

"How? I'm—" But she couldn't finish the sentence. How could he still believe that they had a chance? That _any_ of them had a chance?

"You're blind," Akil finished, his voice level. But she could tell, even now, that he was fighting to stay calm. Burying his own panic by trying to keep her calm. "Okay, so you're blind. I'm missing a hand. And … what's your name?" There was silence for a moment, but Piper didn't have the strength to take a peek into the future and see. "Victoria. Victoria's lost her voice. But we're still alive. That's what counts, right?"

Right. Still alive. And maybe that would count for something, back in the real world. Back in real life, maybe she could deal with being blind. Maybe Akil could deal with a missing hand or Victoria could deal with losing her voice. It would be tough, sure, but it would be _possible_ – with time.

But they didn't _have_ time. And this wasn't the real world. They were in the Games now, and they couldn't afford to make any mistakes. They'd already made far too many. Coming towards the smoke had been nothing but one big mistake – one they'd paid for dearly. But if they hadn't…

If they hadn't, it might have been worse. If the storm had continued – if the boy had been allowed to continue controlling it – he could have wiped out the whole island. If they had waited to confront him, maybe he would have had better control over the storm. Maybe he wouldn't have been so easily distracted. Maybe they would have died.

"Right," Piper agreed at last. "We're alive."

Now they just had to stay that way.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

All they'd had to do was stay out of it.

Penelope breathed a sigh of relief as the storm in the distance died down. Whatever had happened – whatever or whoever had created the storm – it was gone now. Did that mean that someone had died? Maybe. Or maybe someone's power had gotten out of control, and they'd finally been able to contain it. Either way, it wasn't her problem.

Penelope glanced over at Monet, who was watching the sky intently where the tornado-like whirlwind had been only moments before. "Maybe we should go see…" they began.

Penelope shook her head. "Not our problem." But even saying the words felt wrong. Whoever was over there, they would have to find out eventually. They would have to _face_ them eventually. So wasn't it better to do so now, while their opponent might still be weak?

Maybe. Maybe if they were certain there _was_ someone still over there, or that there was something to be gained. If they knew there would be food or some other sort of supplies. But as it was, they had no idea what they might find. And if whatever contestants were over there had any sense, they wouldn't even _be_ there by the time Penelope and Monet might reach them.

Monet shook their head. "What if someone's hurt, or—" But they cut themselves off before they could finish the sentence. Penelope nodded a little. If someone was hurt, that _definitely_ wasn't their problem. That was what was supposed to happen, after all. People were supposed to get hurt. People were supposed to die. They weren't supposed to interfere with that. If anything, they were supposed to make it happen faster.

But now wasn't the time to remind Monet of that. "Let's see about some lunch," Penelope offered. And, with that, she leapt off the cliff and down to the beach below, absorbing the energy from the fall and leaving Monet gasping behind her. _Good_. Hopefully, that would be enough to distract them from everything else that was going on – at least for now. Penelope leapt back up again, propelled by the energy she'd just absorbed. "Looks dry enough for now," she reported. "Hold on tight."

Monet gripped Penelope's arms tightly as the pair of them jumped, Penelope absorbing the energy from the landing and channeling it into a cushion of air that softened Monet's fall. Monet giggled a little as the two of them got their bearings. The beach was small – maybe thirty feet long, at the most – but it was dry and, given the long drop down, would probably be relatively safe.

Safe. No part of the island was truly safe. The water could kill them just as easily as another contestant could. But they would have to risk it if they wanted to find food. Penelope took a step towards the water, gesturing to Monet to stay back. "What are you going to do?" Monet asked cautiously.

Penelope took another step towards the waves. "Well, I figure there might be some fish in the water. Water conducts electricity. Electricity is just a form of energy."

Monet nodded. "I think I'm following. So you're planning to give the water a jolt of energy and hope it kills any fish in the area."

"Yes."

"And hope it doesn't kill us."

"It won't kill me. Even if the shock makes it back to me, absorbing energy is what I do. But you probably want to stay back."

Monet nodded and took a step back towards the cliff. "Is this far enough?"

Penelope smiled a little. "I guess we'll find out."

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

They should have stayed where it was safer.

Monet took another step back towards the cliff as Penelope knelt down next to the water and sent out a surge of energy. The water rippled out, and then back, crackling and sizzling as the energy ripped through it. But none of it reached the shore again. Penelope smiled, satisfied, as a number of fish floated to the top of the water, already a bit charred. Monet beamed. "So how do we get them?"

Penelope hesitated. Clearly, she didn't want to wade out into the water. Even if there wasn't the chance of residual energy – and even if it couldn't harm her – the water was cold. Freezing cold. There had to be a better way to collect the fish. Penelope glanced around, her gaze finally coming to rest on a small rock beside her. "Trust me?"

"Yes." To Monet's surprise, the answer came without hesitation. Even Penelope looked a little surprised at how quickly they had answered. But there was no point in lying – not now. Besides, whatever Penelope was about to do, it wasn't as if they could stop her. "Go ahead."

Penelope nodded. "Then when I say jump, jump." She reached down, picked up the rock, and turned it over a few times in her hand – maybe charging it with some sort of energy. Then she wound up and tossed it as far as she could, landing it just beyond the last of the dead fish. A wave immediately sprouted from the water, heading out in all directions.

Heading towards them.

"Jump!" Penelope called, clutching Monet's hands tightly just as the wave reached the edge of the shore. They both jumped, propelled upwards just in time to avoid the wave, which crashed into the cliff wall.

Monet gripped Penelope's hands tightly. "What the hell was that?"

Penelope shrugged. "Look down." Sure enough, the wave had receded, leaving a variety of dead fish strewn across the beach. "We'll wait a moment or two for the sand to dry a bit, then go and collect them."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Monet shook their head. "Any particular reason we didn't jump up here _before_ you decided to create a tidal wave?"

"I could absorb more energy from the wave if I was closer to the shore when it struck," Penelope answered matter-of-factly. "Besides, I was curious."

"About what?"

"About how much you actually trusted me. I'm impressed."

Impressed. Was that all this was? Some sort of experiment to find out just how much they were willing to put up with? Maybe. And maybe it had worked, because Monet was still there, waiting, when Penelope returned with the fish.

But it was worth it, they decided as they sat down to eat, using their knife to cut apart the fish and Penelope's energy to cook it a little more. A reliable source of food was worth one moment of sheer terror. Besides, it had almost been … fun.

Monet shook the thought from their head. They weren't supposed to be having _fun_. They were fighting for their lives. Right now, they were using their knife to cut up a fish, but, eventually, they might have to use it against another contestant. Another _person_.

And that wouldn't be fun at all.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

It was almost fun to have more of her clones nearby.

Cyrene leaned back in the snow, giggling a little to herself. Cera, who, as near as she could figure, represented her creativity, had found a way to fashion a rudimentary fishing rod using the rope from her whistle, her extra pair of socks, some of the string from the parachute, and a few of the twigs from a nearby shrub. They'd been using what remained of her fig bars as bait, and Patty, who seemed to represent her patience, had been fishing all morning. She'd finally managed to catch a few fish, which, since the clones didn't need to eat, Cyrene had eaten by herself. Maybe raw fish wasn't an ideal lunch, but it was better than nothing, and it was a good distraction.

A good distraction because Rana and Kiri, her curiosity clone, had immediately wanted to investigate a strange storm in the distance. But catching and dissecting the fish, along with naming the rest of her clones, had been enough to keep them occupied. So far, she'd identified five more she hadn't met before – Cera, Patty and Kiri, along with Ira, who represented annoyance, and Stella, who represented stealthiness. All of them were occupied now, except…

 _Shit_.

Cyrene quickly scanned the area. She could account for Cera, Patty, Kiri, Ira, Luna, and Tira. Rana was keeping watch on the other side of the river. But Stella was nowhere to be found. Without warning, her fear-clone appeared. Cyrene hadn't given her a name yet, and now didn't seem to be the right time. "What are we supposed to do now?" the fear-clone managed to squeak out as Rana raced around the lake to join them. "We all know where she went! She could be killed!"

Cyrene shook her head. "We don't know anything of the kind. She could be anywhere. Maybe she's hiding." But, as she concentrated, she could tell that wasn't true. Stella was making her way towards where the storm had been. Cyrene clenched her fists. Why wouldn't her clones simply do as they were told? What was she supposed to do now?

Okay. She needed to think this through. "Maybe one of us should go get her," Cera suggested.

Patty shook her head. "We should just wait and see what she finds out. She'll probably come right back after she figures out what's going on."

"And if she doesn't?" Rana interrupted.

"Then we come up with a new plan," Ira volunteered. "No point in worrying about it until then. It's not like we can catch up with her."

Cyrene glanced around at the group. That was probably true – and no one seemed eager to try to catch up to Stella in time. Maybe this was as good a time as any to figure out what was happening elsewhere on the island. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea, after all.

She just wished it had been _her_ idea.

One by one, Cyrene absorbed the clones back into herself. In a way, it _had_ been her idea. Stella was part of her, after all. Her ideas were Cyrene's ideas. This one just happened to be an idea that Cyrene herself had been too frightened to act upon. Was it such a bad thing that one of her clones had taken the initiative and decided to make the first move?

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it didn't matter whether it was good or bad. All that really mattered in the end was whether or not it ended up keeping them alive. Whether it ended up keeping _her_ alive.

Everything else could wait.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Now she was glad they'd decided to wait.

Natasha watched silently as the storm in the distance finally subsided. What had started as a plume of smoke had suddenly grown into a tornadic whirlwind, easily visible across the flat terrain even from their position. But it hadn't reached them, and had finally died out.

Died out, or been snuffed out. If the storm had been the result of one of the other contestant's powers – which seemed likely – then either they had stopped the storm, or someone else had. Maybe they were dead. Maybe there was one fewer contestant on the island.

She just wished they knew how many were left.

"No way to know, really," Ben answered before she realized she must have asked the question out loud. Or maybe he was simply thinking the same thing. "I guess once there's only one person left, they'll come and pick them up, but until then…"

Until then, they had no way of knowing. And as long as Ben and Cassidy were with her, she knew there were at least _some_ other contestants still alive. But how many? Were there only a few dead – Juliska, the ones who had been shot down at the start of the Games, and maybe one or two near the storm? Or were there only a few left? Or maybe something in between.

"We could go find out," Ben offered after a moment of silence. "Think about it. Whoever created the storm is probably dead – or at least weakened. Who else would still be there? Anyone who survived would probably clear out as quickly as they could."

Cassidy shook her head. "Then what's the point in going? What would we learn?"

"Whatever's left could tell us a lot," Natasha pointed out. "If there are bodies, we could figure out how many of them were killed. If there are tracks leading away, we might be able to figure out how many people survived. And maybe if we follow them, we could find out more."

She let that hang in the air for a moment. Whoever survived that storm might be injured. They would be easy pickings. That was what she'd wanted to say. But were Ben and Cassidy ready to hear that yet?

Was she ready to say it?

Ben and Cassidy glanced at each other. "Maybe a quick peek," Cassidy conceded. "But if there seems to be something too dangerous—"

"We'll come right back," Ben agreed. "We don't need another…" Another incident like the one at the lake. Another dead friend. Another loss. The words lingered in the air, unsaid, until Ben finally rephrased. "We don't need to go running into trouble."

Into trouble. As if all of them weren't already in trouble. They were three mutants in the middle of a fight to the death. There were still contestants out there who wanted to kill them. Who _needed_ to try to kill them. And even if none of the others got them, the two beside her would need to die if she wanted to go home.

That was about as much trouble as she could imagine right now.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

They would be in real trouble if they didn't find food soon.

Parker shook her head as she and Clara finished the last of their cookies and fig bars. After having no luck searching the coast for a safe way down to the water the day before, they'd decided to head inland, and had been traveling southwest for a while. Or, at least, she was pretty sure it was southwest. They'd been heading in the direction of some smoke – west, as best she could tell – until a storm had appeared in the distance, and had quickly veered off to the south, perpendicular to the storm. So southwest.

So far, however, they'd had no luck finding anything to eat. There was snow enough to keep them from dying of thirst, but that wouldn't keep them alive forever. They would have to find food – and soon.

But where?

Just as they finished the last of their food, Clara pointed to something in the distance, off to the right. "Look!"

Parker shook her head. "Where?" The storm had died down a while ago, and she didn't see anything else in that direction…

"Down," Clara whispered, pointing at the ground. They both took a few steps closer, and Parker could finally see what Clara was pointing at – a footprint in the snow. Then another. "Someone else was here."

Was. Clearly, they hadn't stuck around. Maybe they hadn't even stopped here at all. The footprints continued in more or less a straight line in both directions. Whoever they were, they'd known where they were going.

"I think there were two of them," Parker offered. The footprints were a bit faint – as if they'd been made while it was still snowing – but there _did_ seem to be too different sizes, and too much overlap unless one person had been doubling back pretty much the entire time to leave more footprints.

Which was one possibility, perhaps, if they'd wanted someone who stumbled across their trail to think there were more of them than there were. But if so, why stop at two? Why not create an entire group of footprints? No, it was probably just two. A pair of contestants – just like them.

"Maybe we should follow them," Clara suggested. "Maybe they have food. Maybe they'd be willing to share, or…"

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. If they weren't willing to share, maybe they could steal some. Or worse. "They'll share," Parker insisted. "I can convince them." But could she? This wasn't just trying to calm down a group of people who were having an argument. This was life and death. If she couldn't do it…

Suddenly, she could see it – a group of contestants sitting in a circle of sorts. The image was blurry, and she couldn't make out their faces, but she could see four or five, at least. Was that her future? She'd never been able to see her own future before, but maybe it was Clara's. And that was good enough for her. "I'll be able to convince them," she repeated confidently.

"I'm sure of it."

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

Neither of them was quite sure what to do next.

Reese paced back and forth as he and Simon finished off the last of their dried apples and crackers. Maybe they should have rationed it better, but there hadn't really been much to begin with. And they'd both been assuming that they'd be able to find food somewhere on the island. But with all the snow…

At least the snow was good for one thing. They wouldn't die of thirst. They'd drank some, and there was more melting in their orange juice bottle. But that would only help for so long if they couldn't find food.

And they wouldn't find it by just sitting around.

"What else would be edible?" Reese muttered.

"Shh," Simon hissed. "I'm listening."

Reese shook his head. Simon had been listening for hours ever since hearing something from the direction of the lake. Something that sounded like laughter. But that was good, wasn't it? If the girl was still at the lake, after all, that meant she wasn't coming after _them_.

Or, at least, not all of her were coming after them.

"We need to try to find some food," Reese insisted. "We won't survive long in the cold if we don't have food."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Thought you were from somewhere in … Missouri?"

"Mississippi."

"Right. Look, I _live_ where it's cold, and the best way to survive is to stay put. Conserve energy."

"But if we don't find food, we won't _have_ any energy to conserve."

"And if we take off without a plan, we'll waste the energy we _do_ have. Or, worse, we'll run into someone else who won't hesitate to kill us right away."

"We can't sit here and do nothing just because of what happened to Rory."

"This isn't about what happened to Rory!" Simon insisted. "Think it through. Where are you suggesting that we go?"

Reese hesitated. Simon had a point. He didn't have much of a plan. "I thought maybe we could … have a look around."

"We _had_ a look around," Simon protested. "We found a lake. Probably fish in there. But look what happened, and now…"

"Now you just want to give up?"

"Planning is not giving up."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "So do _you_ have a plan?"

"Not yet," Simon admitted. "But we'll have to go back to the lake. It's the only place we know there's food. Which means we'll have to find some way to lure the girl away."

"You want to use one of us as bait?"

"No. That wouldn't work. She could just send one or two of her duplicates after us, and still have plenty to guard the lake. We need a way to get _all_ of her to leave." He shook his head.

"I just don't know how to do it."

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22**

He still didn't know how Vincent had done it.

Ian finished off one of the sandwiches Alvin had left for them, still trying to work out what he could from Vincent's expression. Vincent had woken a few hours ago with a smile on his face and suggested as casually as he could that they might not need to sleep until tonight. Which meant that they didn't need to keep checking the dreamland to see if Diana had found Erik yet.

Which meant that she had.

They couldn't get carried away yet, of course. Just because they'd managed to make contact didn't necessarily mean a rescue was on the way. And even if it was, there was no telling whether it would arrive in time to save anyone. Eleven contestants were already dead, after all. More than a third of the mutants on the island were dead.

And it wasn't even the end of the second day.

Eleven contestants. Three of his. Three of Vincent's. And five of Maria's. Ian laid a hand on her shoulder as they watched the screens. Terry and Taylor had settled down by the lake on the north side of the island, while Cameron was still running away, unaware that he'd lost his gamble, that Tariq was already dead. Austin, Jayden, and Verona were following Snowball, who had caught a few more voles for them since breakfast. Reese and Simon were planning, but seemed content to stay put for now, as did Monet and Penelope.

As for the others, they all seemed to be converging on the spot where Hadley's storm had been. Maybe it made sense that a storm would raise that amount of attention, but he hadn't expected so many of them to want to head _towards_ it. Cyrene had unwittingly sent one of her clones ahead, and Ben, Cassidy, and Natasha were investigating, as well. Clara and Parker were following the trail that Piper and Akil had left in the snow, and were only a short distance away from reaching Isadore's body, still untouched.

Akil, Piper, and Victoria, for their part, were preparing to leave. They were still packing up the voles that Hadley had fried with his lava, but it was slow going. Piper was blind, Akil was working with one hand, and Victoria didn't seem particularly anxious to leave when she couldn't control where the group went.

It had taken him a little while to figure it out – what had been going on with Hadley's attacks. But what had seemed random at first had a distinct pattern. Whether he knew it or not, he'd been targeting their powers. Akil had been motioning to whatever vision he had created with his hand when it had caught on fire. Piper's power was seeing the future. Victoria's power was useless if she couldn't speak. Maybe she could still write instructions for them, but Vincent had mentioned earlier that she required physical contact and _eye_ contact in order to use her power. How were they supposed to look at _her_ if they were reading her instructions?

Ian drummed his fingers on the table, hoping they would have the sense to leave soon. They _had_ to realize that others would have seen Hadley's storm. Maybe they were counting on the idea that no one would want to come near it, but surely they had to realize that others would be curious. After all, _they_ had been curious when it was just a bit of smoke.

Just a bit of smoke. That was what had started it, after all. If only Hadley had realized that his lava pit was creating a beacon that would draw others to them, maybe he would have stopped.

Or maybe he wouldn't have cared. Maybe he would have been confident enough to assume he could handle whoever approached. After all, if John hadn't killed Rosalind, if he had never lost control, he might very well have been able to kill them _all_.

If. If, if, if. Ian leaned back a little in his chair. Speculating about how things might have happened a little differently was useless now. This was what had happened. What was going to happen to the rest of them, if help didn't come soon.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Ian sprang to his feet as Nicholas entered the room, flanked by four men in uniforms. He turned to Vincent. "Come with us."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because I thought I'd ask nicely first. Come with us, and we'll be gentle."

Ian froze. What was going on? Had Nicholas figured out that Vincent was talking to someone in the dreamland? Had he figured out _who_? Vincent hesitated a moment, but then nodded. "Okay. Okay. Just … just leave them alone. They didn't do anything." He shot Ian and Maria a look. A look that said _Don't say anything_ as clearly as if he'd been able to use his power. Then he turned and followed Nicholas out the door, which slammed shut behind him.

Ian and Maria shared a look. "Well, shit," Ian muttered. "Now what?"

Maria hesitated, but then shook her head. "This doesn't change anything. We keep doing what we've been doing – what we're here to do. He'll be fine. They're probably just taking precautions. He'll be back in a little while."

But she didn't sound so certain.

* * *

" _Today was meant to be a display of your power. Instead I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours."_


	27. Sacrifices

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the final ten poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Sacrifices**

* * *

 **Dr. Anita Donahue, 34  
** **March 21st, 14:57 AKST**

"So how'd you get dragged into all this?"

Anita chuckled a little as she continued to change the bandages around Alvin's eye. "Man shows up at my doorstep and asks if I'd be interested in helping with a government project. Top secret, excellent pay, but I have to be willing to leave _right now_. How do you say no to something like that?"

"They didn't tell you what was going on?"

"Not until I was already on the plane. You?"

"Told me they had some probabilities they wanted me to calculate. Complex system, lots of variables – all purely hypothetical, of course."

"They lied?"

Alvin shrugged. "It was hypothetical then. Now it's real. That's usually the way it goes."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me. I told them not to do it."

"But you're still here."

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because if I wasn't, things would be even worse. Take this, for instance." He waved a file he'd been scanning for the last ten minutes. "Working with one eye here, and I'm still the best person to work through this and figure out what to do about it."

"What is it?"

"Everything we know about Diana Pierri and her family."

"Who?"

"One of the mutants who's already dead."

"Which is important because…"

"Because she's not dead. Her power was – _is_ – dream manipulation, and she's still alive in there, talking to … someone. Definitely the contestants she was working with, probably her coaches, and maybe even other people, as well. Which isn't a problem – not really – unless she decides to contact someone who she thinks might stand a chance of stopping the Games."

"So what are you doing?"

"Looking for leverage. Anything we could use to convince her to stop. And I've found something. Something that the others would almost certainly try to use as blackmail. Might work. Might not. But if there's another way we can use the same information without resorting to threats … that's my job, Anita. To present alternatives. To calculate which option is the best when human instinct is to take the first path. The obvious path."

"Instinct can help you survive."

"Of course it can. But it's not just _about_ survival. It's about how we survive. _How_ we survive determines … well, whether we deserve to."

"That's an unusual attitude for a mathematician."

"Especially a mathematician who helped organize a teenage death match?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. And what about you? You found out what's going on, and here you are."

Anita shrugged. "My job is to patch people up. To keep them alive. What happened to them beforehand … not my problem. And speaking of patching things up … go ahead and open your eye."

Slowly, Alvin opened his left eye, then shook his head. "Nothing."

"Damn," Anita muttered. She'd done her best, but the bear had simply caused too much damage to the eye itself. "I'm sorry. I really thought—"

"Not your fault. You didn't change into a bear and claw me in the face."

"No, but—"

"And it could be worse. Could've been my neck. Then I wouldn't be here to have this lovely conversation." He leaned back in his chair, holding the file a little closer to his good eye. "Thanks for trying."

"I can get you an eye patch, if you'd like."

Alvin chuckled. "Why? To make everybody else more comfortable? So they won't have to look at this?" He waved a hand towards his face. "Sometimes it's good to make folks a bit uncomfortable. Reminds us why we're here. Now, if there's nothing else…"

Anita shook her head. "Just try not to run into any more angry bears."

"No promises. Right now, though, I have to go show Nicholas what I've found." He shook his head as he made his way to the door. "I'll see you around. Hope things go as smoothly with your next patient."

"Yeah," Anita muttered as he left. Her next patient. Her next patient would arrive at the end of the Games, and there was no telling what she would have to be prepared for. An injured eye would probably be the least of their concerns.

She just hoped she would be ready.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"Almost ready to go?"

Piper shook her head as she slipped her backpack over her shoulders. She wasn't ready. Maybe she would never be ready. Staying in one place wasn't any safer than moving, of course, but it _felt_ safer. After peeking into the future several times using her power, she had a fairly good idea of the layout around her. But if they started moving…

Piper took the pair of sunglasses Akil had given her out of her pocket. They'd swapped supplies; he'd given her his pair of sunglasses while she'd given him the headlamp that she'd taken from Diana's pack. The glasses were just as useless, of course, but Akil had reasoned that maybe they would keep anyone else they stumbled across from figuring out that she was blind.

 _Right_.

"Piper, what about you? Ready?" Akil's voice was getting more impatient. What did he think was going to happen? Was anybody really going to be running _towards_ where a giant storm had been?

Then again, _they_ had. She and Akil had followed the storm, and it had nearly cost them their lives. _Would_ probably have cost them their lives, if it hadn't been for Victoria. And if someone else _was_ coming, the three of them weren't really in a good position to fight them off.

Piper nodded. "Ready." As ready as she was going to be. "Which way are we—"

"Wait," Akil hissed.

"What?" Now he wanted to wait?

Akil waited for a moment before answering. "Victoria thinks she saw something. Well, some _one_."

"Where?"

"That way."

" _Which_ way?"

Someone grabbed her shoulders, turning her in the right direction. Both hands. Victoria, then. " _That_ way," Akil answered. "Take a look. Is anyone going to come?"

Piper couldn't stifle a chuckle. _Take a look._ But at least she still could. At least she could still use her power. She took a deep breath and concentrated. Everything came back – the colors, the snow, the sky. The two people standing beside her. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. Even a brief glimpse of the world was better than nothing. She clenched her fists, holding the vision as long as she could, sprinting in the direction Akil had indicated. She didn't see anything, but she probably wouldn't get far before—

Then the vision snapped. Everything was black again. Piper shook her head. "There's nothing. At least, as far as I could tell."

Silence for a moment. "Victoria says it's probably a good idea to head in the other direction, just in case," Akil relayed.

Piper nodded. No point in heading in a direction they even _thought_ might be unsafe. "Which way then?"

"How about that way?"

Piper clenched her teeth. " _Which_ way?"

"Back the way we came, more or less. I think we passed a lake off to the right. But we should stay off the trail we left, just in case…"

"Just in case what?"

"Just in case someone found it. In case someone's following us."

"You think someone is?"

"Probably not, but…"

But it was better to be careful. Especially in their condition. Piper nodded as Victoria slipped a hand into hers, giving her a tug in the right direction. "Let's go," Akil agreed.

"Before something else happens."

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

She just hoped Stella would get out of there before something happened.

Cyrene paced back and forth along the shore of the lake. She could feel most of what Stella was doing. Enough to tell that she'd seen three contestants in the distance – and, fortunately, had been smart enough to realize that taking them on was a bad idea. But she still hadn't left the area where the storm had been, even though the other three were leaving. What was she waiting for?

Cyrene held her breath as Stella crouched lower in the snow, hoping to avoid detection. So far, it had been working rather well. The three mutants had been looking in her direction for a while, but had decided to go the other way. Did that mean they had seen her, and were trying to avoid her? If so, maybe they weren't much of a threat in the first place, if one clone could scare them away.

Cyrene waited, pacing back and forth along the shore of the lake. Part of her wanted to summon some of her clones to keep her company – or at least to keep guard – but if they appeared, there was a chance they would want to go after Stella. A chance that they might ignore her even if she told them not to. And it wasn't that she didn't _want_ to go after Stella if they needed to – if she seemed to be in danger or found something that might help them. She just wanted it to be _her_ choice.

So she would have to wait. Make the decision herself, and then hope her clones would go along with it – whatever it was. That was why she had absorbed them again in the first place. She already had one clone who had decided to run off on her own.

She didn't need another.

A wave of fear struck her as Stella spotted something in the distance. Three more contestants, headed in the direction of the storm. Or, at least, where the storm had been. From what she could tell, it had completely died down. Stella could see a few bodies, but, from this distance, she couldn't quite tell how many. And at least she had the sense not to venture closer to get a better look.

Not yet. Not while there were still people coming. Three of them, approaching slowly. Cautiously. And they were right to be careful. Any mutant that could conjure that sort of storm was dangerous, even if they were injured. And if they were dead, whoever _killed_ them certainly wasn't someone to be trifled with, either.

Cyrene shook her head. When it came to sheer numbers, she and her clones had the edge. But, aside from that, they didn't _have_ any particular powers. They couldn't make storms appear out of nowhere. They couldn't control the snow or the wind or make fire or … well, _anything_ , really. They were good company, but how much use would they really be in a fight?

And how long would it be before she would have to find out?

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Maybe now they could find out more about what had happened.

Natasha glanced around as they neared the area where the storm had been. There wasn't much now to suggest that anything had happened – nothing except two bodies and some fur strewn around the area. Ben and Cassidy hung back a little, waiting. Natasha rolled her eyes. If there was anyone here, they would be able to see them. There was nowhere to hide.

Still, the first thing she checked was the bodies – just to make sure they were dead. The larger body belonged to a boy, his hands still clutching his neck, which was circled by a thin, red line. He'd been strangled. Quick, clean, bloodless. There was no mess on the ground around him. In fact, he looked oddly peaceful. But unfortunately, whoever had done the deed had taken the rope with them.

The smaller body was a girl's, and wasn't nearly as clean. Blood stained the ground around her body, which seemed to have been clawed by … what? One of the contestants, she knew, could turn into a bear. Maybe that explained the fur. But if he had killed the girl, then who – or what – had killed him?

Maybe the boy. Maybe there had been others. In fact, there had almost certainly been others, because _someone_ had killed the boy. And because there were tracks leading away from the area – as well as several sets of tracks leading _towards_ them. Natasha glanced back at Ben and Cassidy. The three of them had been careful to hide their own tracks. She'd levitated herself most of the way, and Cassidy had been doing her best to cover the rest of the tracks with snow. There was only a thin layer of snow, though, and they might still be visible to someone who was actively _looking_ for tracks, but they certainly wouldn't stand out.

"Looks like whoever was here is gone," Ben concluded, joining Natasha beside the bodies, with Cassidy close behind. "The question is, do we want to follow them?"

Yes, that was the question. The only question, really. They had come looking for answers, but they weren't likely to find any more – not without following whoever had survived. But was that a risk they were ready to take?

Was that a risk they _needed_ to take?

Part of her wanted to say no. They had food and water – and a way to get more of both. They still had their parachutes to take shelter under if it started to snow again, and Ben could keep them warm. Where was the point in taking unnecessary risks?

And yet…

"Maybe we should," Natasha offered.

Ben raised an eyebrow. The question had clearly been directed at Cassidy, not her. But why? Who had put the two of them in charge? _Cassidy_ was the one who had accidentally killed a member of the team.

No. They weren't really a team. Not forever. Still, there was no reason they should be the ones calling the shots.

"Why?" Cassidy asked. "We don't _need_ anything they might have."

Natasha hesitated. Why _did_ she want to go after the other contestants? Maybe she was simply tired of sitting around eating fish and trying to pretend they weren't trapped in a death match. Maybe she wanted the chance for them to prove themselves after everything that had gone wrong at the lake. Or maybe…

Natasha shook her head. "Because they need to die eventually."

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

"Because they need to die eventually."

Ben looked away, his gaze drawn to the bodies on the ground. They were dead. Someone had killed them. Someone who was thinking like Natasha. Someone who was thinking how he _should_ be thinking. He had thought, a few days ago, that he was ready for this. That he was ready to _do_ this. To _think_ like this.

But ever since Juliska had died, ever since Isadore had left … things were different. This was real. This wasn't just practice with the automated robots Maria had helped them train with. These were people. And they were dying.

But Natasha was right. They _had_ to die. _She_ would have to die, if he wanted to go home. And, more than ever, he wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe. Warm. Dry. Back in his dorm in Florida. Laughing with his friends. Playing stupid games of ultimate frisbee and studying for exams. That was the life he wanted – not this.

That was the life he would never have again.

Because even if he survived – even if he won – there was no way he could go back. Even if, by some chance, the MAAB let him go back to his family, back to his old life … everyone would know. They were planning to air the Games on television. The school would never let him back. His friends would never want to see him again. They wouldn't understand what had happened. What he was being forced to do.

 _Slow down_. Ben took a deep breath. He hadn't really _done_ anything yet – nothing that anyone would really object to. Sure, he and the others had been lying in wait for contestants beneath the lake, but that had failed miserably. He hadn't killed anyone. Hadn't hurt anyone. The only one in their group who _had_ was Cassidy, and even that had been an accident.

But what Natasha was suggesting wasn't an accident. It wasn't even setting a trap to defend their camp. She was suggesting hunting down other contestants because … what? Because they would have to die, anyway?

Because they _could_?

"Natasha's right."

Ben's gaze flew to Cassidy as the sudden words shook him from his thoughts. "What?"

"Natasha is _right_. We can't avoid people forever. If we go after them – if we find them on _our_ terms – we'll stand a better chance in a fight. A fight that has to happen eventually. Maybe it's better if—"

"Cassidy," Natasha interrupted.

"What? I'm agreeing with you."

Natasha shook her head. "I think that'll have to wait." She nodded in the other direction.

"We have company."

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

They had company.

Clara glanced over at Parker as the pair of them approached the three contestants in front of them. Two girls and a boy. None of them appeared to have any weapons, but that didn't necessarily mean much. Parker only had a pocketknife, after all. And there was no telling what their powers might be. Parker seemed confident she would be able to convince them to share what they had. Maybe Parker's assurance should have been enough, but Clara couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Still, it wouldn't be good to antagonize them by making the first move. Three was about the limit of the number of people she could usually control at once, but there was no telling whether their powers would have any effect on that. And she could already feel Parker's power surging, calming them all down, easing the tension that was bubbling below the surface. She didn't _want_ to strike first. She didn't _want_ to fight.

She just hoped the others felt the same way.

Closer and closer they ventured, and Parker's smile grew. "Hello!" she called, and the other mutants didn't budge. Didn't make a move. Didn't attack. That was something. Clara tensed, ready to take control of their bodies if something went amiss. But she hoped it wouldn't. She hoped Parker could pull this off…

"Hello." It was the younger girl who had spoken. Who was taking a step towards Parker and Clara. "What are you doing here?"

Parker smiled a little. "We followed the storm – same as you, I assume. Did you find anything?"

The girl shook her head. "Just some tracks leading away. We were about to follow them when you showed up."

"Maybe we could follow them together," Clara offered.

The boy took a step forward beside the girl. "Together?"

Parker nodded. "Sure. The more, the merrier."

The other girl – the older one – raised an eyebrow. "Merrier?"

Clara cringed. "Well, maybe not merrier, but certainly safer. Strength in numbers and all that." Parker nodded along, and so did the younger girl. Strength in numbers. If their two groups really _could_ join together…

"I'm Parker," Parker continued. "And this is Clara."

"Cassidy," the younger girl replied. "This is Ben and Natasha." The others nodded in turn.

Parker took another step towards them. "Pleased to meet you. Any idea what we might find if we follow those tracks?"

Ben shook his head. "There were three sets of tracks, from the look of it. Three contestants. If we can find them, we might be able to…"

"Kill them?" Parker asked, barely containing a look of surprise.

Cassidy's face was starting to turn red. "That's what we were thinking, before you came along. I mean, that's what has to happen eventually, isn't it?"

Parker smiled a little. "What if it isn't?"

Clara raised an eyebrow. She knew that Parker had wanted to join up with these three, but hadn't dreamed that she would propose a stop to the killing altogether. The three contestants in front of her seemed agreeable, but how many people could she really influence at once?

Clara couldn't help the feeling that she was pushing her luck.

* * *

 **Parker Reyes, 19**

Maybe she was pushing her luck.

Parker took a deep breath, willing the people around her to calm down. To think – _really_ think – about what she was proposing. There were five of them. They didn't have to kill each other. There was no _reason_ for them to kill each other. They could work together.

And they could find others.

She'd had the same thought during training, but now … now it seemed more real. It was actually working, right in front of her eyes. She was talking some sense into them – maybe even talking some _peace_ into them. They didn't want to fight – none of them. The older girl was proving the toughest to calm – maybe because she was the oldest, or the most experienced, or simply the most frightened. But she could deal with that – for now, at least. All they had to do was _not_ attack each other.

"Maybe we should wait before following them," the older girl suggested. "Come up with some sort of plan for convincing them not to fight."

 _There we go_. "What do we know about them?" Clara asked. Still looking for information. For some sort of tactical advantage. But they didn't _need_ one if they were looking for friends instead of a fight. They just needed to be honest.

"Not much," the boy answered. "Just that they might be responsible for this." He nodded to the pair of bodies on the ground. "So they're clearly willing to fight."

"Willing to, yes," Parker agreed. "But that doesn't mean they wanted to." _Just like you._

"Just like us," Cassidy echoed. "I thought we needed to, and we _did_ fight, and Juliska … I killed her. If I hadn't, Isadore wouldn't have run off. We would still be together – all five of us."

"There are five of us now," Parker offered. "And Isadore – maybe we can find him. What's he look like?"

Cassidy shook her head. "You probably haven't seen him. About my height – a little shorter, I guess. Brown hair. He wouldn't have had a backpack; he left his with us. He didn't take any food with him, so I don't know if…"

"He's dead," Clara finished.

Cassidy nodded. "He might be."

But that wasn't what Clara had meant. They had found a body while they were following the trail that led here. A boy with long, brown hair and no backpack. _Don't say it._ That might be enough to upset the balance she'd created.

But she'd been so focused on keeping the others calm, that she hadn't bothered to keep calming Clara, who was shaking her head. "No, I mean … he's dead. We found a body back there that … well, it sounds like him." She took a step closer.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

"I'm sorry."

Cassidy took a step back, as if by doing so she could distance herself from the words. Isadore was dead. There was always a chance, of course, that they were mistaken. There were other boys with brown hair, after all. But how many of them would have left a backpack behind? "How did he die?"

Clara shook her head. "It looked like … like someone strangled him. But there's no way to tell who…"

"Yes, there is," Natasha's voice interrupted. "Think it through. If you wanted to kill someone, Cassidy, would you strangle them? Would you need to?"

No. No, she wouldn't. She could dump water on them, or drain water out of them, but she wouldn't need to resort to physically strangling them. The same was true of Ben. He could simply drain the heat out of someone, or make them overheat, perhaps. And Natasha … If she focused hard enough, could she increase gravity enough to kill them? Maybe. Certainly she wouldn't need to strangle them.

Natasha nodded. "Exactly. So we're looking for someone whose powers aren't particularly threatening. Maybe the same person who did _this_." She nodded to the body of the boy beside her, his neck red with rope marks. "Wherever those footprints go, they'll probably lead us to Isadore's killer, too."

Isadore's killer. The words sounded wrong. Sounded cruel. But Isadore was dead. The two bodies at their feet – those contestants were also dead. And how many more?

Parker took a step closer. "No. No, you don't have to kill them. Just think about it. They're probably just as afraid as you are."

Cassidy shook her head. "No. No, they're not. Because Isadore … he wouldn't have fought them. If he did, they wouldn't have been able to get close enough to strangle him. He was probably … he was probably asleep. Or too cold to fight back. They had no reason to be afraid of him. Nothing to gain. He didn't have his backpack. No food, no supplies, no weapons. And they killed him, anyway. Do you really think those are people you can reason with?"

"Yes, she does," Natasha realized. "She thinks she can reason with anyone … and I think I know why." She turned to Parker. "Your power – whatever it is, it's been affecting us, hasn't it? Calming us down. Making us more … what? More susceptible to you?"

"Not like that. I was just—"

"Manipulating us," Natasha finished.

" _Reasoning_ with you. Please. We don't have to kill each other. We don't have to fight." Parker took a step backwards, and Clara clenched her fists tightly, as if preparing for a fight. Cassidy glanced around. Beside her, Ben was tense, and Natasha was shaking her head. Whatever had been affecting them – maybe even _controlling_ them – its power was broken, or at least diminished.

Still, no one wanted to make the first move.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

No one wanted to make the first move.

Natasha glanced around as the silence continued to linger. No one wanted to be the one to act. To start a fight. Maybe that wasn't surprising, considering the way their last fight had gone. One of their group had been killed, and another had run off – and _then_ been killed, if they could trust these two girls. They couldn't afford for the same thing to happen this time around.

And yet … this was a fight that had to happen. They couldn't keep letting Parker manipulate them or control their emotions or whatever it was that she was doing. If they couldn't trust their own thoughts – if they couldn't be sure that their emotions _were_ their own emotions – then what could they be sure of? No, they definitely couldn't team up with these two. And if the choices were teaming up or fighting it out…

There was a third option, of course. They could simply walk away. They could let Clara and Parker go. But was that really any better? They'd already told the pair of them where they planned on going. That they planned on following the footprints. It wouldn't be hard for Clara and Parker to follow them, if that was that they wanted to do. Then they might end up having this conversation all over again – just with three more players – once they found whoever was at the other end of the footprints.

And that was a conversation she didn't want to have. Not because she _wanted_ to fight, but because, as much as none of them wanted to admit it, they _had_ to. Contestants were already dying – and not just one or two by accident, like Juliska. Whoever had killed Isadore had meant to. Whoever had killed the two contestants whose bodies lay nearby had _meant_ to. This wasn't an accident. Couldn't be an accident. There were killers on the island, and they couldn't afford to try to reason with them.

It wouldn't work.

Natasha took a deep breath. She had to do something. Something that would convince the others to act. _Think_.

Okay. Parker's power clearly had something to do with emotions, but Clara … Clara's could be anything. Well, maybe not _anything_. The day the bear had attacked one of the younger girls, she'd heard that the girl who stopped him had taken control of his body somehow. Maybe…

That might do it.

Natasha's hand flew to her neck. Gripping. Choking. "Help!" she gasped, pointing at Clara with her other hand as she fell to her knees. "She's making me — help — make her stop!" She could see Clara's eyes, wide and confused. She wasn't doing anything. But the others had to think she was.

It was the only way they would do something.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

They had to do something.

Ben shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Everything had been so fuzzy. So peaceful. But now that was broken, the feeling of comfort melting away just like the snow around him. Warmth flooded from his body into the water that was pooling at his feet.

"Now, Cassidy!" he called, and she took control of the water, sending it spewing towards Clara and Parker. The girls screamed, but they weren't quick enough to dodge. It hurtled towards them as Ben drew the warmth out of it once more. Parker leapt in front of Clara just as the water struck, hitting her chest full-force. Clara yelped and held up her hands, as if trying to stop the water.

But it wasn't the water she was trying to stop.

He should have known. Should have been able to figure out Clara's power from what she had done to Natasha. But what could he have done about it?

Ben clenched his fists. Or, at least, he tried to. But nothing seemed to be responding right. Beside him, Cassidy was also frozen. But did that mean she couldn't use her powers? He wasn't sure. Clara took a step backwards. Then another. Ben and Cassidy stayed frozen in place as Clara knelt beside her friend. "Parker, are you all right?"

She wasn't. Ben could tell that much from a distance. She'd taken the full brunt of Cassidy's blast, and was now covered in freezing cold water. Even if the force of the blast hadn't harmed her, it wouldn't take long for hypothermia to set in, and there was nothing Clara could do about that.

Well, nothing except retaliate.

At the moment, though, she seemed content to hold the three of them in place. Maybe that was all she could do. Maybe it took all her focus to hold so many. Or maybe she was still hoping that they could settle this peacefully. Ben took a deep breath as Clara examined her friend.

What were they supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

What was she supposed to do now?

Clara clenched her teeth, trying to focus as she held the Ben, Cassidy, and Natasha in place. That was hard enough, and Parker was already unconscious. How was she supposed to hold them off _and_ get her friend to safety?

Her friend. Her friend who just didn't seem to _get_ it. They couldn't talk their way out of this. They couldn't reason with everyone. It just wouldn't _work_. But Parker was going to keep trying to make peace until it killed her.

Maybe it already had, Clara realized. Parker's pulse was dangerously slow. She was covered in freezing water. She was already unconscious. How long would it be before the cold killed her? How long before trying to keep her alive got Clara killed, as well?

Suddenly, the snow began to melt again, forming a puddle around her and Parker. _Shit_. Clara glanced over at the other three contestants, who were … floating? Yes, the three of them were floating a few inches off the ground. Ground that was covered in water from the melting snow. Water drawn in from as far as the younger girl could reach with her mind, pooling around the two of them.

And it was getting warmer.

Clara sprang to her feet as the water began to boil. She could hold the three of them in place, but apparently that didn't stop them from using their powers. Something struck her in the back – a burst of warm water. _Think._ With a wave of her hand, the three mutants' eyes snapped shut. Maybe she couldn't stop them from attacking her, but she could make it harder for them to figure out where she was.

She took off at a sprint, her control over them fading as she did. Hopefully by the time they could open their eyes, she would be far enough away. Or maybe they would ignore her and decide to follow those footprints, instead. She could only hope.

And Parker…

Clara clenched her fists. She couldn't worry about Parker right now. She had to save herself. The water that Cassidy had struck her with was already freezing cold. If she didn't do something soon, she wouldn't be any better off than Parker.

But what was she supposed to do?

Suddenly, she saw something. No, some _one_. Someone in the distance. Motioning to her. Clara stared as the figure came closer. It was a girl. A girl with red hair, smiling at her, waving her on. "This way!" she called. "Come with me!"

Clara glanced behind her. She couldn't see the others any more. Everything seemed to be growing colder. She took another step towards the girl. Then another. But all she really wanted to do was lie down and rest. It was so cold.

She sank to the ground and closed her eyes.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

It was such a relief to be able to open her eyes again.

Cassidy glanced around frantically, taking in her surroundings as Natasha lowered them to the ground again. Clara had run off, but which way? They'd melted the snow, so there were no tracks for them to follow on the rocky ground. "She could be anywhere," Ben muttered, and he was right. There was no way to follow her. She could barely see the tracks in the direction the three pairs of tracks had gone before, picking up in the distance beyond the circle of melted snow.

"I bet she went that way," Cassidy reasoned. "Probably went to warn whoever was here before that we were coming."

Natasha shook her head. "I doubt it."

"Why?"

Natasha nodded to Parker, still unconscious on the ground beside them. "If she left her ally here to die, why would she run off to warn complete strangers about us? That doesn't make any sense."

Maybe it didn't. But something else caught Cassidy's attention. Natasha had said Clara had left her ally _to die_. That meant she wasn't dead yet.

Which meant one of them would have to kill her.

"So what do we do about her?" Cassidy asked quietly, nodding towards Parker. "We can't just leave her here."

Ben shook his head. "She'd die eventually from the cold, but…"

But that wasn't an option. Leaving her here to die in the freezing cold weather just seemed cruel, even if she wasn't awake to feel it. But how else were they supposed to kill her? Freezing her probably wouldn't kill her any quicker than she was already dying. She'd said that Isadore had apparently been strangled, but that didn't feel right – killing her the same way someone had killed Isadore.

Cassidy swallowed hard. Nothing about this would ever feel right. But they didn't have a choice. She _had_ to die. And the quicker, the better. If they waited too long, the three contestants would have too far a head start.

"What about this?" asked Natasha, who had been digging through Parker's bag, maybe hoping to find something useful. She held up a pocketknife and quickly flicked it open, glancing up at Ben and Cassidy. Waiting for … what? Their approval? Their permission?

Ben nodded. "Do it quickly. We have to get moving if we're going to catch the others."

Natasha nodded, still a bit hesitant, but, after a moment, took the knife and quickly slid it across Parker's throat. Blood spilt from the wound, and Cassidy looked away from the body as Natasha quickly wiped the blood off the knife and stuffed it in her pocket, then tossed Cassidy the poncho she'd found in Parker's backpack. "Doesn't look like they had any food left. No wonder they were so eager to make friends."

Cassidy looked away. That wasn't the reason. Or, at least, she didn't _think_ it was. They'd seemed genuinely interested in stopping the whole thing. In making peace with the other contestants, defying the MAAB's orders. Had it all been a ploy to get some food? Maybe. Maybe there was no way to know for sure, considering Parker's powers.

Maybe they were better off not knowing.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

Maybe he was better off not knowing.

Cameron closed his eyes, dangling his legs over the cliff. There was nowhere else to run. Nothing to do now but go back and see whether the other contestants had taken the bait. Whether Tariq was still alive. But he'd been putting it off. There was a part of him that didn't want to know.

Or maybe a part that already knew the answer.

Cameron took a deep breath. Tariq was probably dead. Even _thinking_ the words felt wrong, but it was the thought he kept coming back to. If the other contestants had decided to stay at the lake – and there was no reason for them not to – it wouldn't be long before they became uncomfortable with what they thought was a dead body nearby. If they tried to move him, they might realize he was alive and decide to finish the job. If they decided to do something with the body – burn it, dump it in the lake, or bury it – then he was dead. Even if they simply left him, eventually he would wake up, and they would notice. He would have no way to defend himself.

Cameron shook his head, opening his eyes, staring out at the smaller island to the north. Were they watching him? Waiting to see what he would decide? Or were they ignoring him completely? Maybe they considered him a lost cause. Just one more small, defenseless mutant who would probably die at the hands of someone much more powerful.

Cameron plucked a handful of leaves from one of the nearby shrubs and stuffed a few in his mouth. Maybe his power wasn't much good in a fight, but at least he could munch on whatever was handy without having to worry that it would kill him. Slowly, he stood up, still eyeing the island in the distance. If he could reach it…

 _Stop it._ Even if he could get down to the water without the fall killing him – which he couldn't – and even if he could swim that far in freezing water – which he couldn't – then what would he do? There was nothing on the other island, either. Nothing except…

Nothing except the people responsible for this mess. The people who had _put_ him in a situation where he'd had to abandon Tariq in order to survive. The people who had dumped them all on an island and told them to kill each other. If Tariq _was_ dead, they were the ones responsible, not whoever was back at the lake. And certainly not him. This was _their_ fault, and only theirs.

At least he was certain of that.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

He wished he could be certain.

Terry took a deep breath as he and Taylor dragged the boy's body a little farther from the lake. Again. They kept moving it, but it never seemed to be quite far enough away. No matter how far they dragged it, it was still a silent reminder of what he'd done.

He wished he knew. Wished he had some way of knowing whether the boy had been dead already, before he'd driven his bone-spear into his chest. But maybe … maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it wasn't about what he'd done, whether he'd _actually_ killed the boy. Maybe what mattered was that he'd been willing to. He'd been willing to kill someone who was lying there, defenseless, because he'd been afraid. Afraid it was a trap.

And, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was _still_ afraid, even though it was obvious now that it hadn't been a trap. Or, if it had, it had failed. Someone had forgotten to do their part. But he'd seen the boy during training; his only ally had seemed to be the boy who had run away. Maybe…

"Terry?" Taylor's voice shook him from his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right!" Terry snapped. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

Taylor shrugged. "Because you're trapped in a death match on a freezing island without any food now that our jerky is gone, and we haven't been able to figure out a way to catch these damn fish all day?" She smirked. "For a start."

Terry nodded a little. "Sorry. I just … Are _you_ all right?"

"No. I don't think any of us are. But we're alive, and that's what counts, right?"

"Right," Terry mumbled, letting go of the boy's body. "Let's leave him here."

"You sure?"

"We shouldn't leave the lake for too long. Someone might come along and decide to set up camp."

"Like we did?"

Terry cringed. Yes. That was what he was worried about – that someone else would come along and do to them what they'd done to the boys who had been at the lake. That someone else might not think twice about stabbing _him_ through the chest. But he didn't want to admit that. Not now. "Let's just see if we can figure out a way to catch some fish."

Taylor nodded, and they headed back for the lake. Terry clenched his fists. Anything that kept them occupied was good – and anything that might keep them fed was even better. If they spent much more time just sitting around and thinking, he might go crazy.

Maybe he already had.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

Maybe they just had to wait this out.

Penelope couldn't help a smile as she and Monet ate their fill of the fried fish and then stuffed the rest in their backpacks. This seemed like a good place to stay – just on the edge of the cliff, where they could catch fish. There weren't many ways for an opponent to approach, unless they planned on climbing down the cliff somewhere else and then back up here. Aside from that, they could easily watch for an approach from inland, even when it got dark.

When it got dark. The sun was already beginning to sink a bit lower in the sky. Their second day in the arena was almost over. How many more would they have to spend here before…

Penelope shook the thought from her head. The quiet reminder that it wouldn't be 'they' forever. Couldn't be, if she wanted to go … where? Home? Sanctuary was gone. Even if Linda had managed to escape, even if she and the others managed to rebuild somewhere else, how could she ever hope to find them? Did she really think that the MAAB was simply going to let the winner of their little game go free?

No. No, if she lived, she would likely be a prisoner for the rest of her life. But prisons could be escaped. She had done it before, and she could do it again, with enough time and patience. All she needed was the chance.

But was it a chance she was ever going to get?

Penelope glanced over at Monet, who looked almost … comfortable. Confident that Penelope would be able to keep them safe, just as she had the night before, when the boy had attacked them. Had it only been one day since then? It felt like longer. Even during her training, years ago, she'd never been on her own for this long before. She'd always had someone watching her, giving her instructions, keeping a close eye on all of them. Now…

The MAAB was still watching, of course. But they didn't show any signs of giving them instructions, or even keeping them informed of how many contestants were left. Were they just supposed to guess? How would they know when the end of the Games came?

Penelope took a deep breath. It wasn't over yet. _Couldn't_ be over yet, because Monet was still here. As long as there was at least one contestant left, the Games weren't over.

She just wished she knew how much longer they had.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

How much longer could they keep doing this?

Jayden glanced around at Verona and Austin as they kept plodding along, following Snowball this way and that. The fox had managed to catch a few more voles along the way, and she'd finally caved and eaten one a while ago. The taste made her sick, but at least she wasn't going to starve. But the sun was beginning to sink a little lower. Soon enough, it would be nighttime again, and there were no signs of another snowstorm. Nothing that might discourage the other contestants from making a move while it was dark.

So maybe _they_ should.

Jayden shared a look with Verona as the three of them stopped at a small stream for a drink. "Maybe we should start getting some rest now," Verona offered. "That way, when it gets dark, we won't be as tired."

Austin raised an eyebrow. "Why does it matter if we're tired at night?"

"One of us has to keep watch," Jayden pointed out. "If we're all tired, we'll end up sleeping like we did last night – all of us at the same time."

Verona nodded. "That worked last night because there was a storm. No one was likely to find us. But tonight…"

"You think someone might find us?" Austin's voice was shaky. So far, they'd managed to avoid the other contestants, but how long could that last?

"Maybe," Jayden admitted. "And if they do, it's better if we're alert. So if we settle down for a little bit now…"

"Good spot for it," Verona reasoned. "Right by a river. We have water if we're thirsty. Maybe Snowball can catch a fish or two."

Jayden nodded. She could see where Verona was going. If they were more well-rested now, they might be more willing to attempt something else later. They might even be willing to go looking for someone else – someone who might be sleeping. Maybe the three of them didn't stand much of a chance in a fair fight, but if they could catch up to someone who was sleeping…

But for that, Verona would need her on board, and she knew it. Without her – without _Snowball_ – their chances of actually finding someone were slim. Just like the chances of someone else finding them. How many contestants, after all, would actually be out at night _looking_ for people to attack. Most of them didn't want to be here. Most of them didn't want to fight.

 _Most_ of them. But 'most' wasn't enough. If even one or two contestants were out hunting, that was enough. Enough to keep the Games going – which was all the MAAB needed. They didn't need the Games to move fast.

They just needed them to move.

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

They had to get moving soon.

Simon shook his head as he paced back and forth. Reese was watching. Waiting. Hoping for a plan that Simon didn't have. But they had to come up with something, or they would starve. If they waited much longer, they would be too hungry, too tired, to try _anything_.

Or maybe … maybe they would be desperate enough to try _anything_. And that wasn't good, either. They couldn't go rushing off without a plan; that was even worse than staying put, because it meant wasting energy. Energy they couldn't afford to lose.

"You've been thinking for hours," Reese complained. "We know what we have to do."

Simon glared. He was right, of course. They had to go back to the lake. It was the only place they could be certain there was food, and they couldn't waste time looking elsewhere for something they knew they could get easily, if only they could lure the girl away. "Yes, but if we go without a plan—"

"And if we stay here, what happens then? Maybe she's not even _there_ anymore."

"Why would she leave?"

"Because she knows that we know she's there?"

"And why should she care? She knows we can't hurt her?"

Reese hesitated. "Maybe it's not about hurting her."

"What do you mean?"

Reese stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going back to the lake. Follow me if you want, or stay here and think. But I'm going."

Simon shook his head. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I hope not." He smiled a little.

"I think I have a plan."

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

She wished she knew what the MAAB was planning to do with him.

Maria drummed her fingers on the table, waiting. Vincent was still gone. She'd told Ian that he would be back soon, but even she hadn't quite believed it. If Nicholas had figured out that they were communicating with Erik…

If Vincent and Diana had even managed to _find_ Erik. He had certainly been acting like they had, but she had no way of knowing for sure – not without asking him. And asking was dangerous. Asking meant giving the MAAB some clue of what they were up to.

But did they already know?

"Breathe." Ian's voice broke her train of thought. "Just breathe. Just think. He'll be fine. What's the worst they can do?"

"Kill him?"

"They won't. They need us. If they're planning to do this next year, they need the three of us to train their contestants."

He was grasping at straws. They could always find someone else – or make do with the two of them, if they needed to. Or ask whoever survived their Games this year to act as the third coach. None of them were irreplaceable – not to the MAAB.

But she didn't say so. If Ian believed Vincent was coming back, maybe that was for the best. Worrying wouldn't do them any good. Because what were the chances that Nicholas had believed Vincent when said that Maria and Ian hadn't done anything? If they were planning to punish Vincent for contacting Erik – or kill him so that he couldn't do any more harm – then chances were good that they were next.

"Was it worth it?"

Maria whirled around, surprised, to see Alvin standing just inside the doorway. He quickly closed the door behind him. "Whoever you managed to contact through Diana – was it worth it?"

"Worth what?" Maria asked.

Alvin didn't answer. "Ian, I need to talk to you."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it—"

"No. I can't. I need you to come with me. And it has to be now, before we waste any more time."

Maria swallowed hard. They had already taken Vincent, and, from the sound of it, whatever happened to him hadn't been good. If Ian went with Alvin now, would he be coming back?

Ian glanced over at her, and she shook her head. "Don't. If you leave—"

"If he doesn't, things will be much worse," Alvin interrupted. "But it has to be your choice. This doesn't work if I force you."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No more questions. Coming or not?" He opened the door.

Ian hesitated, but then he turned to Maria and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back." He turned to Alvin. "Lead the way."

And then they were gone. The door closed. Maria took a step back, and then another, silently watching the screens as the sun began to set. What was happening? Whatever might have been gained by talking to Erik, it wasn't worth her friends' lives.

What if they had made a big mistake?

* * *

" _Still unwilling to make sacrifices. That's what makes you weak."_


	28. Plan 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the "final ten" poll if you haven't yet; a new poll will be up with the next chapter.

* * *

 **Plan 2**

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60  
** **March 21st, 19:02 AKST**

He just hoped this went according to plan.

Alvin fought back a chuckle as he led Ian down the hall. So little of the Games so far had gone according to any sort of plan. What he was about to suggest might be dangerous, but at least the risk was his, and his alone. If they waited until an attack came, things would be worse. Maybe much worse. Maybe not for them, but certainly for someone.

Instead, he'd convinced Nicholas to let him go through with his idea – and left Lillian instructions for how to speed up the Games if he failed. If something went wrong.

There was certainly a possibility that it might. Diana's control over the dreamland was strong enough to allow her to exist there even after her death. Strong enough to hold Isadore there against his will, allowing Piper and Akil to kill him. If she wanted to kill him…

Maybe she could. Maybe she couldn't. But she could certainly hold him there and prevent him from waking up, which was just as bad. He wouldn't be much help to the MAAB – or to _anyone_ – if he was trapped in the dreamland. But he was the best choice for this, nonetheless. The best equipped to negotiate.

Alvin gestured to a room, and Ian followed him inside. Negotiation wasn't usually his strong suit. Predicting how people would act – especially in large groups – was easy enough, but _persuading_ them to act a certain way … that was more Lillian's area of expertise. Or maybe Mack's. But there was no way that Ian would help either of them contact Diana.

There was no guarantee, of course, that he would help Alvin, either. But the coaches knew he was one of the two who had voted against the Games. Maybe that would earn him some of their trust – or at least enough of their curiosity to make this possible. Alvin closed the door behind them and took a seat on one of the two beds in the room, setting a folder down beside him. "Have a seat."

Ian shook his head. "I'd rather stand."

Alvin shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Where's Vincent? What did they do to him?"

"Nothing."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. We just wanted to separate you. Keep you on edge, make you wonder what's happening to the others. Divide and conquer – oldest trick in the interrogation book."

"And you're telling me because…"

"Because it won't do any harm. You'd have figured it out as soon as you demanded proof that he was okay before agreeing to anything. Hurting him – or any of you – won't do any of us any good. And we'd rather not use force when we can use reason."

"Reason."

"We know you've been in contact with Diana, and that she's probably helping you contact someone on the outside. Don't know who, exactly. Don't need to know, really." He waited for a moment, part of him hoping Ian would confirm his guess, part of him knowing that he wouldn't. "All we need to know is that we're ready."

"Ready?"

"For an attack, if that's what's coming. But I'd rather it didn't come to that." He shook his head. "Ian, you've seen what the Sentinels can do. When we raided your school, you never stood a chance. All you could do was stall, hope that the others could hold off the Sentinels long enough for you to destroy some files. And it worked; I'll give you credit for that. But this is different. Whoever you contacted, whoever you hope is coming to save you … Just _think_ for a moment about what they're going to have to do. They're going to have to fight their way through the Sentinels who are guarding the island, find all the contestants, somehow get all of _them_ off the island, fight their way into this base, rescue _you_ , and then take all of you … where? Where do you think you're going to run?"

Ian didn't answer. He didn't have to. Alvin nodded. "You hadn't really thought that far, had you. You're just hoping for rescue, hoping that whoever you contacted can work out the details, hoping they can find enough support to punch their way through our defenses and pull off a miracle. But think it through, Ian. The Sentinels at the school fought – and _killed_ – some of the most powerful mutants on the planet, and emerged with little more than a scratch. Whoever you're hoping will come … Can they really succeed where the X-Men failed so spectacularly?"

Ian looked away. Considering. Alvin held his tongue. Better to let him think it through. Better to let him do the math. "You're trying to manipulate me," Ian answered at last.

Alvin couldn't help a smile. "Of course I am. I'm trying to manipulate you into doing the smart thing. The _right_ thing. I'm trying to persuade you not to get anyone killed in a pointless, futile rescue mission that will save _no one_. I'm trying to convince you to focus your efforts somewhere else."

"Where?"

 _Finally._ "Let me talk to Diana."

Ian's face flushed. "Not a chance in hell. You, Nicholas, the rest of the board – you're the reason she's dead. Ky may have shot her down, and Akil may have killed her, but _you're_ the ones who put her in a fight to the death."

Alvin shrugged. "Exactly. A fight to the _death_. She's already dead. What more harm can I do?"

"What _good_ can you do?"

"Quite a bit, if you'll let me. Nicholas gave me authority to negotiate with her on behalf of the board."

"What?"

"I want to propose a deal – while we still can. But I need your help, or she might not talk to me."

"What makes you think she'll want to make a deal with you?"

Alvin pulled a sheet of paper out of his folder and handed it to Ian. "This."

Ian studied it for a moment, but from the look on his face, it hadn't taken him long to find the relevant information. "Shit."

"Yeah. Let me help you, and we can use that to your advantage – to _her_ advantage. I can help her. I can help _him._ But only if you'll let me."

Ian crumpled the paper and flung it across the room. Alvin tensed, ready for Ian to yell, to threaten him, maybe even to strike. But, instead, he slumped into a seat on the other bed. "Okay. You can talk to her. But I can't guarantee that she'll want to talk to _you_."

"I know. Can't blame her for that, really. But I hope she'll listen – for everyone's sake." He took a remote from his pocket. "Ready?"

Ian lay down on the bed. "Yes."

 _Liar._ Alvin pushed a button on the remote, turning Ian's collar on, then lay down on the other bed. Now he just had to fall asleep. Right.

Like that was going to be easy.

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

Falling asleep was already getting easier.

Ian glanced around the dreamland, quickly spotting Diana. Maybe she had been waiting for him. She grinned as she flew towards him. "Ian! Tariq and I – we found Erik. And Vincent talked to him, and he said that he's going to try to save us. Well, save you, at least. The ones who are still alive. Anyway, he just has to rally some more support, and … What is it?"

Had it been that obvious? Ian shook his head. "That … that's wonderful Diana. I have someone who wants to talk to you. He should be here soon."

"Who?"

Ian hesitated. "Remember before the Games, I told you that there were two members of the MAAB who voted against the Games? Well, he's one of them. He wants to help, but…" He trailed off. Did Alvin really want to help? He definitely had an agenda, but _who_ was he trying to help?

"But what?"

Ian shook his head. "I'll let him explain. He should be asleep soon."

"Not as easy as you might think," came Alvin's voice from behind him. "Not all of us can fall asleep on command."

Diana's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who wants to talk to me?"

Alvin nodded. "I want you to call off the attack."

"What attack?"

"The attack. The rescue. Whatever you're planning with whoever you managed to contact. It won't work. You can't save them."

Diana clenched her fists, and the clouds around them turned a light shade of red. "How do you know?"

Alvin took a step closer, undeterred. "I know it feels like you can. Here, with the power you have … it must feel like you can control anything. Change _anything._ But you don't have that sort of power in the real world. No one does. No one is going to stop the Games. If they try, they'll only get themselves killed. Even if you managed to find who I _think_ you found, it won't work."

Ian turned sharply. Alvin hadn't said anything about knowing who they'd contacted. "How do you know—"

Alvin shook his head. "I don't _know._ And let's keep it that way. I didn't tell you before because they could _hear_ me before. Frankly, I'm not a good liar, and it would only be a matter of time before Nicholas asked who you're talking to. If you don't tell me, I don't know for sure, and I don't have to lie … so let's just assume for the moment that I'm right. It _still_ won't work."

Diana turned to Ian. "Is he right?"

Ian swallowed hard. He didn't _want_ Alvin to be right. He wanted to believe that Erik would have enough support, that he could pull it off. But that was all it was: what he _wanted_ to believe.

Alvin shook his head. "If I wake up and tell them you didn't agree to work with me, we have a way to speed up the Games. If you keep me here so I can't wake up and tell them, they have instructions for how to do it without me. Your friends will get here in time to retrieve twenty-nine bodies, and the Sentinels will still be waiting for them. They'll die for nothing."

"And if I work with you, I … what? Convince them to back down?"

"No. We both know that won't work. They'll think you're being manipulated, and they'll come anyway. But if I'm right, they still don't know exactly where you are, or they'd already be on their way."

Ian shook his head. "They know we're in Alaska."

Alvin smiled a little. "Alaska is big."

"You don't say."

"So let's use that." He took another step forward. "The contestants are on St. Matthew Island. The coaches and the MAAB are in a base on Hall Island a little to the north. Consider that a gesture of good faith. You can tell your friends that … or you can give them another location. A decoy location."

Diana shook her head. "You want me to lead them into a trap?"

"No. I want you to send them somewhere where there's _nothing_. No people, no Games, no Sentinels. Pick an island somewhere in Alaska – far away from here – and tell them _that's_ where you are. You can say I told you. You can say you snooped in someone else's dreams and figured it out. You can say one of your coaches saw a map lying around somewhere. Pick whatever you want; just make it convincing. They'll be safe. The Games will go on as planned. No one gets hurt."

"Except the contestants who are going to _die_ ," Diana pointed out.

"Don't you get it yet? They're going to die anyway! I'm trying to help you make sure that no one _else_ does … and that no one else gets hurt."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Alvin glanced over at Ian. "You don't have to walk away from this empty-handed, Diana. I came to bargain, and Nicholas has given me permission to negotiate. This is a _deal_ – and in a good deal, everyone gets something."

"What are you offering?"

"A promise that, if you don't interfere, relatives of contestants will be exempt from consideration for further Games."

"Why would I—"

"Work it out, Diana."

It didn't take her long. Within seconds, her face had turned beet-red. Without warning, she waved an arm, and the mist around them formed a tendril, wrapping around Alvin and sweeping him in the air. Diana waved her arm again, and the tendril thrashed, flinging him this way and that. "My brother? Terry is a mutant? And you're planning to use him for your _next_ little experiment?"

Ian hurried to her side. "Diana, stop. Please, listen to him."

"Did you know?"

"Not until he told me."

The tendril slammed Alvin hard against the ground, but then slipped away, releasing him. Diana sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands. "I didn't even know."

Alvin struggled to his feet, clutching his side and gasping for breath. "There's no way you could have. Mutant abilities usually begin to show themselves around his age. They're usually triggered by some sort of stress … such as the stress of having his sister taken away from him."

"What's his … what can he do?"

"Retrocognition. He can see events that have already happened. Sort of like … like flashbacks, except the memories aren't always his. Could be useful if he wants to go into detective work or something, but not exactly a threat."

Diana crossed her arms. "You didn't think I was a threat, either."

"Touché. My point is, this deal could save his life. We have no reason to choose him for the Games, but the others … they can be vindictive. They wanted to use this to blackmail you – threaten to choose him for the Games unless you agreed to our terms."

"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?"

"No. I'm offering protection for him – and any other young mutants who happen to be related to this year's contestants. In return, you help me save the lives of whoever might be coming to rescue you. Let me help you." He took a step forward, but then staggered a little. "Damn it. I think … I think they're trying to wake me up."

"When I threw you," Diana realized. "It must have hurt you in the real world."

"Keep me here."

"I can. But not both of you. I've been trying, but I can only force one person to stay at a time." She took hold of Alvin's wrist. "There's something else I want."

That was the last thing Ian heard before everything went dark. Then light again as he opened his eyes. Nicholas was standing over him with a remote. "You switched my collar off," Ian mumbled.

Nicholas nodded. "Had to. Alvin seemed to be in danger. We're trying to wake him up, but…" He nodded towards the other bed, where Alvin was still breathing hard, his arm bruised where he'd landed on it in the dreamland, his wrist red – probably where Diana was gripping it, keeping him from leaving. Beside him, Lillian and another woman were shaking him, calling his name, trying to wake him up.

 _There's something else I want._ What was she asking him for? "They're fine," Ian assured him. "They're just talking."

"Just talking," Nicholas repeated skeptically. "He knew this was dangerous. Lillian?"

Lillian stood up straight. "Yes?"

"Do what he said. Speed things up. We don't know what's going on in there; we can't afford to take any chances."

Ian's face flushed. "I just told you they're fine."

Nicholas shook his head. "Which is exactly what you would say if she got out of control and was trying to kill him. Anita, stay here with them. Keep trying to wake him up. Call me if you need anything." He and Lillian hurried out of the room. Ian shook his head.

What was he supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

What was she supposed to do now?

Victoria squeezed Piper's hand a little, gently nudging her in the right direction as the three of them made their way across the rocky ground. Akil led the way, with Piper occasionally glimpsing ahead to make sure it was still safe. At least, that was what Akil said she was doing. All Victoria noticed was a slight turning in her stomach whenever Akil asked Piper to check the path ahead, or make sure there was no one behind them, after which Piper would report that there was nothing.

Aside from that, the three of them continued mostly in silence – Victoria because she didn't have a choice, Piper because she was trying to focus on not tripping over the rocks in their path, and Akil because … well, maybe he simply liked the silence. Or maybe he didn't want to distract Piper and knew Victoria couldn't respond without wasting time to bend down and write in the snow. Maybe he was being considerate.

Or maybe there was simply nothing to say. It wasn't as if they were friends, after all. Wasn't as if they'd known each other for long. If it hadn't been for the storm, she would probably never have met them at all. And if she hadn't lost John, she probably wouldn't have needed to team up with them.

Victoria swallowed hard. Would John really have stayed with her, though, if she'd no longer had the ability to control him? Would he have joined up with her in the first place if she hadn't forced him to? Ever since discovering her power, she'd never had to worry about whether someone would be there to help her. She'd always had someone she could count on, because they didn't have a choice in the matter.

But Akil and Piper … they could leave whenever they wanted. She had no way to control them. No way to influence what they did, where they went, what they _thought_. She couldn't make them like her, or even put up with her. And yet … they were still here. They were working together.

Because what other choice did they have? Kill each other? That was what they were supposed to be doing, what she had been prepared to do if it came down to her and John. Now … now she had no way to kill _anyone_ , unless someone got close enough for her to use the cord she had used to strangle the other boy. Her powers were useless if she couldn't give instructions. And the others…

Their powers were useful, at least, but not particularly dangerous. Piper could see a little into the future, which would be useful for _avoiding_ a fight. Akil's power, as well – at least as far as he had explained it – seemed better for convincing someone to leave them alone, or that no one was there at all, than actually _fighting_ them. The illusion he had projected into the boy's mind during the storm had been more of a distraction than an actual threat.

Suddenly, a hard squeeze from Piper's hand startled Victoria out of her thoughts. "Damn it," Piper muttered as she stumbled forward, narrowly avoiding falling on her face as she tripped over one of the larger rocks. "Why didn't you warn me?"

Victoria pulled away from Piper's grip. Was she supposed to pay attention to every single rock on the island? Akil stepped between them, taking Piper's hand in his good one. "Why don't I take over for a while?"

Piper shook her head. "Your turn to take care of me, huh?"

"No one said that."

"You didn't have to!" Piper snapped. "It's obvious. I'm slowing you down."

"You're helping us avoid running into—"

"What? There hasn't been anything for hours. Nothing but that lake in the distance that we're still heading towards. Slowly. We'll be lucky if we're there before nightfall."

Akil shrugged. "What's the rush? You said there was no one behind us."

"No one close enough for me to see."

"That's good enough for me. You're the reason we even have any idea what's ahead or behind us."

"And if someone finds us? Then what? What good do you think I'm going to be in a fight?"

"You think I'm going to be any better?"

Victoria could feel her face growing hotter. If there _was_ anyone in the area, they would certainly hear the two of them bickering. She had to do _something_. Victoria took a step closer to the pair of them.

Before she could stop herself, she slapped them both.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

"What was that for?"

Akil took a step back, startled, nearly letting go of Piper's hand. Piper, as well, stepped back from Victoria. "What the hell?"

Victoria hesitated, maybe trying to decide how to explain herself, but finally settled for kneeling down and writing in the snow. _STOP the pity party. At least YOUR powers still work._ Akil read it out loud for Piper, putting the pieces together. "Your power has something to do with your voice?"

Victoria nodded, then wrote a single word. _Persuasion._ So her power meant she could … what? Convince people to do what she wanted. "Your power is talking people into things?"

Victoria waved her hand up and down a little, signaling _more or less_ , then wrote a little more. _People have to do what I say – but now I can't tell them anything._

"That's quite a power," Akil remarked after relaying the message to Piper.

Victoria shook her head. _It was. Never told anyone – but no harm now._ She shrugged helplessly, and Akil nodded. He and Piper had been arguing about who would be less use in a fight, but at least they could still use their powers. If he suddenly couldn't project illusions anymore, how would he react?

Piper chuckled a little. A smile broke out on her face. After a moment, chuckling turned to laughter, and she bent over, clutching her side. "What's so funny?" Akil demanded.

Piper gasped for breath. "I … I don't know. It's just … Victoria could tell people to do whatever she wanted – and now she can't. I can see the future – and now it's the _only_ thing I can see. And you…"

"I make things," Akil finished. "I mold them in other people's heads, and now…" He held up his hand. "I guess it is kind of funny."

Victoria nodded, smiling. Maybe it was funny. Maybe it wasn't. But maybe laughing at it was better than the alternative.

Suddenly, their laughter was interrupted by a noise. A helicopter buzzed by overhead. Akil grabbed Piper's hand again, and Victoria huddled closer to them both. But the helicopter didn't land. Instead, something dropped from it, landing in the rocks up ahead.

"What's that?" Akil asked.

"Where is it?" Piper asked, and Victoria pointed her in the right direction. Akil's stomach lurched, and Piper shook her head. "It's some sort of package – like a Christmas present, almost. I didn't get a good look, but I think it had your name on it, Akil."

His name? What would be landing for him? Victoria shrugged. _No harm in finding_ out, she wrote, then quickly scuffed out the rest of the words she had written before the three of them headed for the rocks.

The package did, in fact, have his name on it. After Piper had assured him that it wouldn't explode or anything, he handed it to Victoria. Might as well let the only one who had two hands _and_ could see the package open it, even if it was technically for him. Victoria's eyes grew wide as she pulled out a knife – a large, jagged hunting knife – and handed it to Akil. Then she removed a slip of paper and held it out.

"There's a seven on it," Akil explained.

"A seven?" Piper asked. "Seven what?"

"Just a number seven. That's all." But what was that supposed to mean? "It hasn't been seven days."

"Seven miles?" Piper guessed.

"To what?"

Victoria tapped him on the shoulder, then wrote _seven contestants?_

"Seven contestants dead?" Akil asked. "I think there have been more than that. Diana. The boy Piper killed."

"The boy who made the storm," Piper added. "And his ally."

 _And John_ , Victoria agreed. _And he killed another boy too._

"That's six," Akil shrugged. "So maybe. But only if this is where most of the action has been. Or maybe…" He hesitated. Could that really be true?

And did he really want to say it?

Piper shook her head. "What?"

"What if there are seven contestants _left_?"

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

"I wonder how many contestants are left."

Austin smiled a little as Verona repeated the question for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, just as it had the night before when the package had arrived with the knife and the number twenty-five – just as they had been wondering how many contestants were left, and how many were dead. Verona was hoping for another clue, another hint about how many of them might be left.

Austin wasn't sure he wanted one.

On the one hand, it would be nice to know what they were up against. How many of the others were left. But, on the other hand, Verona would probably use it as evidence that they should _do_ something. That they should be actively trying to eliminate the competition rather than just surviving. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

He wasn't sure he would _ever_ be ready for that.

Austin stuck his head out of their makeshift tent as Snowball padded over with a fish in her mouth. They'd all managed to get some sleep. Verona and Jayden had said they wanted to make sure someone was awake enough to keep watch at night, but what if there was another reason they'd wanted to rest early? What if they wanted to _go_ somewhere in the dark?

Before they could suggest anything of the sort, however, something dropped from the sky. Without hesitating, Verona rushed towards it. "It's for you this time, Austin!" she called.

Austin smiled a little. It didn't particularly matter who the package was for. Last night's had technically been for Jayden, but they'd all been using her knife to cut up the voles and fish that Snowball had brought. Sure enough, the package contained another knife – a bit larger and more jagged. But it was the piece of paper that Verona was staring at – the one with a number. "This can't be right," she whispered.

"What is it?" Jayden asked.

Verona shook her head. "Seven."

Austin stared. " _Seven_? Are you sure it's not seven _teen_ or something?"

Verona quickly handed him the piece of paper. "I don't think so. Looks like a seven to me."

And it did. There was no mistaking it. But that couldn't be right … could it? Could there really be only seven of them left? Seven contestants left on the entire island? That would mean that _twenty-three_ people had died in two days. That wasn't possible.

Was it?

Austin turned the paper in his hands. Maybe. They'd seen a storm in the distance on the other side of the island. How many people could that have killed? Maybe it was a good thing they'd landed on this side.

"What do we do now?" Jayden asked quietly. "Seven contestants left … and there are three of us. That means there are only _four_ who aren't in our group. Only four more people until…"

She didn't have to say it. They were all thinking it. He'd been dreading it, but he'd never guessed it would come quite this soon. Only four more people who had to die until they were left to face each other. To kill each other.

"Let's not worry about that yet," Verona shrugged. "We don't have to think about that yet. Let's worry about the other four. What do we do about them?"

Austin shook his head. "Why do we have to do anything? If that number's right, they've been doing a perfectly good job of killing each other off without our help."

Even Verona couldn't argue with that. "Maybe. But we can't count on that forever. If there are only a few other people left, then isn't it better if _we_ find _them_ , rather than the other way around?"

Maybe. "But how are we supposed to find them?" Austin asked.

Verona turned to Jayden and smiled. "I have a plan."

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

He didn't have a plan.

Reese glanced around nervously as the pair of them crept closer and closer to the lake. He'd told Simon that he had a plan for how to deal with the girl at the lake, but the truth was it was less of a plan and more of an … idea. Well, now that he thought about it, it was less of an idea and more of a notion. A vague hope that something would come to him eventually.

But 'eventually' would have to be soon. They were getting closer and closer to the lake, but nothing was coming to him. On the other hand, at least no one had seen them. Or, at least, they hadn't seen anyone else. None of the girl's clones had come this way. That was good, wasn't it? Maybe she wasn't even _at_ the lake anymore.

That was probably too much to hope for. If he had access to fresh water and maybe even fish, he'd want to stay exactly where he was. Which was why the three of them had stayed at the lake in the first place, even after they'd seen the girl coming. And it had cost Rory his life.

Rory. That seemed like ages ago. But it had only been the day before. They'd only been on the island two days. It seemed longer.

It seemed like a lifetime.

Reese clenched his fists. If he wanted _his_ lifetime to last much longer, he needed to think. He needed a plan. But it was hard to think with the helicopter noise whirring overhead.

A helicopter. Overhead. Reese glanced up in time to see something drop out of the helicopter. A package of some sort. It floated gently down through the air, landing beside them with a soft thump. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in a small burlap bag. Without thinking, Reese tore the wrapping away. Maybe it was food. Maybe it was a clue. Maybe…

It was a single piece of paper. A number. Reese shook his head as he handed it to Simon. Simon raised an eyebrow. "What's seven supposed to mean? Seven what?"

"Seven minutes?" Reese asked. "Maybe we're supposed to attack in seven minutes?"

"How are we supposed to know when it's been seven minutes?"

"Well, what do _you_ think it means?"

"Seven … continents? Seven seas? Seven … days?"

"Wait – what did you say?"

"Seven days?"

"No, before that."

"Seven seas?"

Reese nodded. "What if it's not seven seas? What if it's seven lakes – seven lakes on the island?"

"But there aren't." Simon pulled the map out of his bag. "There are six. One up here that we decided was too far north to try to make it to. Four down here, where we figured that there are at least _some_ people. And this one." He pointed to the lake they were headed towards.

Reese smiled. "But what if it's a clue? What if there actually _is_ another lake?"

"Where?"

"I don't know. But we must be close. Why else would they send us this?"

"Maybe to distract us," Simon suggested. "It seems to be doing a pretty good job of that."

Reese could feel his face turning red. "Look, what's the harm in _looking_ for another lake?"

"What's the point, when we know exactly where a perfectly good one _is_?"

"But there's someone already there!"

"And you said you had a plan. Do you have one or not?"

"I…" Reese took a step backwards. Simon was upset, but maybe he had a right to be. He'd promised him a plan. And now it was nearly dark. If they were going to make a move, now was the time. "What if seven means seven people at the lake?"

"Seven people?"

"Well, seven of _her_. What if there are seven of them?"

"Seemed like more than that last time," Simon pointed out.

"Maybe there are seven of them right _now_. Or seven of them she can control. Or something. Maybe it's a warning that seven is the number of people we'll need to get by. Do you really think we can handle seven of them?"

Simon shook his head. "Do we really have a choice?"

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He didn't really have a choice now.

Cameron turned the slip of paper over in his hands as he headed back towards the lake. The paper had fallen from the sky a few moments before, with nothing on it but a number seven. Cameron shook his head and stuffed the piece of paper in his mouth; it wasn't likely to be much use otherwise. He had no idea what it meant, anyway. But maybe Tariq would know.

If Tariq was still alive.

They were taunting him. Giving him a clue. Giving him information. But not the information he wanted – no, _needed_. He needed to know whether Tariq was still alive. Anything else – including the mysterious number seven – could wait until then.

Cameron barely kept from crying out as he tripped on a rock in the fading light. He couldn't let anyone know he was coming. Sneak in, find out whether Tariq was still there, sneak out – that was the plan. He didn't need anything else. Nothing else mattered.

He just wanted to know whether his friend was alive.

His friend. Maybe there was something different about facing a life-or-death situation together, but he was more worried about Tariq than he'd ever been about any of his friends back home. Of course, they'd never been in this much danger back home. Cameron swallowed hard, forcing the piece of paper down. He'd never left any of his friends back home at a lake to die. Some friend he was turning out to be.

 _Stop it._ If Tariq was alive, he'd say he was sorry. Ask Tariq to forgive him. If he was even awake, of course. That was the other possibility – the possibility that might actually be worse than Tariq being dead, and certainly worse than him being alive and awake to greet him when he returned to the lake. If he was still asleep – if the others had left him alone and he was still there – then he would be right back where he was at the start of the day.

One problem at a time. One question at a time. First, he had to figure out whether Tariq was still alive. Then he could worry about what came next.

Then he could come up with a plan.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

The plan was the same as the night before.

Taylor stole another glance at the body in the distance as the pair of them set up their parachutes as a tent, preparing to settle down for the night. A package had dropped from the sky a little while ago – a package containing a piece of paper and a number seven. Terry had promptly torn it up and thrown it in the lake, declaring it meaningless, but Taylor wasn't so sure. "What if it was a clue?"

Terry shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"What if they're trying to tell us something?"

Terry shrugged. "What if they are?"

"Don't you think we should at least try to figure out what it means?"

Terry chuckled a little. "Don't you get it?"

"What?"

"It doesn't _matter_ what it means. Whatever it means, they're trying to manipulate us into doing something. But whatever it is they want us to do, what makes you think it would be good for us?"

"If they're trying to help us—"

Terry couldn't hide a laugh. "Can you even hear yourself? If they were trying to _help_ us, they wouldn't have stuck us on gladiator island. If they really wanted to give us information, they could have been more specific. Seven hours until such-and-such a thing happens. So-and-so is seven miles away. Seven contestants dead, seven contestants left, seven contestants nearby. That's what they _want_. They _want_ us guessing. They _want_ us to make assumptions and rush into something that's going to get us killed. The best thing we can do is ignore it."

"But if we figure out what they _want_ us to do, we could do the opposite—"

"Which, for all we know, could be exactly what they're counting on," Terry pointed out. "They think that they're in control, that they can manipulate us into doing anything they want. The best way to show them that they can't is to ignore them completely."

Taylor nodded. Maybe he was right. So far, they were doing just fine without any help from the outside. Why would anyone want to help them now? It had only been two days, after all. It wasn't as if the Games were close to being over. Aside from a few contestants who had been shot down at the start and the boy they'd found dead at the lake, they had no way of knowing who might be dead – and who else might be left.

"What if it's seven contestants dead?" Taylor mused.

Terry sighed a little. "Then what? How does that help us – aside from telling us that we've got a long way to go. So we lived longer than seven contestants … maybe. We're in this for the long haul." He tossed Taylor a fish he'd finally managed to spear with one of his bones. "So eat up, and then we'll get some sleep."

Taylor chuckled a little. "Yes, sir." She peeled away at the fish's scales with one of the sharper rocks they'd found. "I'm glad I ended up with you."

Terry raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I'm glad we ended up together."

"Seriously?"

Did he think she was joking? "Yes. Honest. So many of the others seemed to be teaming up with people who were fun, or who made them feel good or safe or … whatever."

"And I'm not fun."

Taylor stifled a laugh. "Not particularly. But you're focused on the big picture. On staying alive. And that's more important."

"Even if I just killed a boy?"

" _Especially_ if you just killed a boy. That's what we're all going to have to do eventually, if we want off this island. Maybe you just got a head start."

Terry turned a fish over in his hand. "You think so?"

"Yeah. I know you've been beating yourself up over it all day, but … well, maybe you got the hard part over with now." Maybe.

Or maybe the hard part was just beginning.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

She was finally beginning to feel a bit warmer.

Clara opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't. She was surrounded by bodies. Dead bodies? No. No, they were too warm for that. But there hadn't been any groups this large, had there? And what were they doing all around her? Warming her up, maybe. But why? Why were they saving her?

"Hello?" Clara called, hoping not to startle them.

Instead, one of them simply started giggling. "Well, hello, silly. It's about time you woke up."

"About time, indeed," grumbled another one. "I thought she'd never wake up."

"Would've been better if she hadn't," griped a third.

"Oh, can it, Rana," snapped a fourth. "You're just jealous. That's supposed to be _my_ job."

"All right, _all_ of you off," came yet another voice – a little bit louder – as Clara managed to wriggle her way out of the pile. One by one, the others disappeared, and, after a moment, Clara realized why. One of them was touching the others, absorbing them one at a time. "Sorry about that. I needed as many of them as I could to warm you up."

"Why?"

"More clones, more body heat. Simple thermodynamics—"

"No, I meant … why save me?"

"Why not?"

She could think of quite a few good reasons why not, but maybe it was better not to ask too many questions. If the girl wanted to save her life – whatever the reason – it was probably better not to complain. It was about time _something_ went her way, especially after Parker…

Parker. Parker was dead. Everything came rushing back as Clara took a step away from the girl and the few clones that remained. "I left … I left a friend behind when I ran."

The girl nodded. "Stella saw. But there wasn't time to get both of you to safety. And I think … I think the others killed your friend."

Clara looked away. She had known, when she'd left, that Parker was probably as good as dead. The only question was whether she was going to die from hypothermia or whether the others would kill her first. The only reason _Clara_ hadn't died was because the girl and her clones had bothered to save her. She'd gotten lucky.

She couldn't count on that happening again.

"What's your name, then?" the girl asked, absorbing the last of her clones.

"Clara."

"Cyrene. I'll introduce you to the others later. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Clara couldn't help shaking her head. That was strange. Why would Cyrene go to such lengths to save her? Didn't she understand that this was a fight to the death? "Look, I'm not complaining, but…"

"But why save your life if one of us is going to die eventually?"

"Well … yeah."

"I'm not sure why Stella brought you back here," Cyrene admitted. "But once she did … saving you seemed like a better option than killing you. This fell a little while ago." She held out a slip of paper with a number seven. "My clones and I … well, we figure this means there are seven people who have died. And if that's what it means, we've got quite a ways to go before we need to worry about killing each other. And my clones … I can create them, but, other than that, they don't really have any … powers. There are just a lot of us. We thought that maybe if you had a useful power—"

"Then I'd be more useful alive than dead."

Cyrene blushed. "And, I have to admit, it's nice to have company that isn't … well, me."

Clara smiled a little. "Well, thank you, whatever the reason."

"Stella says you froze the three who were attacking you, that you made them close their eyes."

Clara nodded. "I can control people's bodies, but … unfortunately, it doesn't seem to affect whether they can use their powers, as long as they don't need to move in order to do whatever it is they do. One of the girls could control water. I think the boy melted it. And the girl … she could fly. I couldn't stop them from doing any of that, so I did the only thing I could think of. I made them close their eyes, and I ran."

"Smart."

"I was afraid."

"What's wrong with that?"

 _What's wrong with that?_ Clara looked away. All her life, she'd been taught to fight back. To stand up to bullies. And she'd had no problem doing that when she'd had a little advantage. When she could force a bully to punch himself in the face or trip over his own feet. But as soon as _she'd_ been at a disadvantage, she had run. She'd been afraid. Maybe even cowardly.

And the worst part was, it had saved her life. The only reason she was here right now to feel terrible about abandoning Parker was because she'd done the smart thing instead of the right thing. She'd saved her own skin – at the cost of her friend's life. But what else could she have done? Stayed there and died alongside Parker? As horrible as she felt now, she couldn't bring herself to wish that she'd stayed, instead.

Not when she was still alive.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

They were still alive.

Ben took a deep breath, clenching his fists in frustration as the snow around them continued to melt. Normally, that would be a good thing; it would mean the weather was getting warmer. But it _wasn't_. It was him. His powers. His bruised ribs, his frustration at being manipulated by Parker, the strain of being physically controlled by Clara – any of those things, or some combination of them, was making it harder to control the heat he was projecting and keep himself from melting the water around him.

Which wouldn't be a problem – and extra heat might even be a good thing – except it was making the trail in front of them nearly impossible to follow. They'd lost it several times already, and now, to make matters worse, it was getting dark. On top of _that_ , a note with a mysterious number seven had dropped from the sky, and none of them seemed to know quite what to make of that.

But they were still alive. That was the important thing. All three of them were alive and well. They'd survived their encounter with Clara and Parker only a little worse for the wear. As for their opponents, one was dead, while the other was on the run. That was certainly quite an achievement – maybe even a victory.

So why did it feel like a defeat?

Maybe it was some sort of residual effect from Parker's power. Or maybe it was coming from inside him – this nagging, persistent feeling that maybe she had been right. Maybe they could simply have refused to fight. Maybe they could _all_ have simply refused to fight.

Maybe they still could.

What if that was why the snow kept melting? What if there was some corner of his mind that didn't _want_ to find the contestants who were somewhere up ahead? He'd fought back at the lake, yes, when they'd been attacked. He'd fought back when Clara had attacked Natasha. He'd been prepared to fight – maybe even prepared to kill.

But this was different. This was hunting down other people – other _kids_ – who were fleeing for their lives. Fleeing from _them._ This time, they would be the ones attacking, the ones initiating a fight without any sort of provocation. Without any reason to attack other than because they could. And because the other contestants had to die in order for them to live. In order for _him_ to live.

But did they?

* * *

 **Monet Amit, 23**

Did they really need any more fish?

Monet shook their head as Penelope headed for the edge of the cliff once more, ready to gather some more food. She'd been distracted ever since a helicopter had dropped a package near them – a package containing a number seven. Neither of them knew what it was supposed to mean, but surely that could wait until morning. And certainly _fishing_ could wait until morning. They already had plenty…

But maybe it wasn't about the fish. Maybe it was a distraction. A distraction from the fact that they were trapped on an island with a bunch of other people who wanted to kill them. If a little fishing was all Penelope needed to keep her mind off that, then Monet wasn't about to stop her. It wasn't as if she was doing any harm.

"So what do you think it means?" Monet asked as they joined Penelope at the edge of the cliff, ready to jump down with her to the beach below. It was strange, really, how quickly they'd gotten used to relying on Penelope's power to get them up and down the cliff. But now, it was almost … fun. Definitely not something they'd been expecting to find in the Games.

Penelope looked up, a little distracted. "What do I think what means?"

"The number seven. The one that came in the helicopter," Monet insisted, but Penelope only shrugged. "Oh, come on. You're telling me you're not even a little curious?"

Penelope shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not curious."

Monet shrugged. "Suit yourself. _I_ think it's a score."

"A score."

"You know, like in gymnastics. Or a beauty contest. Or ice skating. There are judges, and you get a score out of ten. I think they're giving us a seven. What do you think?"

Penelope shook her head. "I think we deserve a nine, at least."

Monet giggled. "That's the spirit. Let's go get those fish." The pair of them leapt down to the beach, Penelope easily absorbing the impact. "I agree," Monet continued absently. "We found food. We have water. You killed someone who attacked us. We're both alive and well. I don't know what we could do to get a better score." They tossed Penelope a large stone to charge.

Penelope turned the rock over in her hands. "It's not a score."

Monet rolled their eyes impatiently. "Well, what do _you_ think it is?"

"I know what it is. And it's not a score."

"What is it?"

"A countdown."

"To what?"

"To this." Penelope clutched the rock tightly, but instead of hurling it into the ocean to fry some fish, she dropped it at Monet's feet. Pure energy leapt from the rock to the ground, and coursed from the ground into Monet's body. Monet crumpled backwards, landing on the rocks, staring up as Penelope approached. They could feel their skin shifting to paper – too late. Too late to stop the impact of the burst of energy.

"Why?" Monet whispered. What had they done wrong? They could barely see Penelope above them, but they could hear her answer – a single word as the light faded.

"Six."

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

"Six."

Penelope watched silently, her fists tightly clenched, as Monet's eyes closed. It wasn't fair. This hadn't been a fight. There hadn't been a struggle. Monet had never had a chance. This had been an execution.

And what did that make her?

Alive. Penelope took a deep breath as she finally unclenched her fists long enough to check Monet's body for a pulse. There was none. Monet was dead. But she was still alive. That what what mattered – _all_ that mattered. This was what had to happen. She didn't have a choice.

She'd never had a choice.

Penelope could feel the tears welling in her eyes. She'd had a choice. They all had. Monet had made a different choice; they had chosen to trust her. Even at the end, Penelope was certain, they hadn't really understood. They simply couldn't understand that one of them _had_ to die, and that Penelope didn't want it to be her. She just wanted what she'd _always_ wanted – to live.

But if she wanted that life – _any_ life – she would have to keep killing. Be their little soldier. Their murderer. Their executioner. She had thought, maybe, that she was done taking orders. But here she was again, killing on command – just because they had sent a message.

She was certain about the message, at least. Seven contestants left. Now that number was down to six. Only six more people she would have to find. Six more people she would have to kill.

And that was assuming that no one else would be doing any of the work. Clearly, there were others who were willing to kill. But she'd known that from the start. _Anyone_ would kill under the right circumstances. Under enough stress, given the right incentive, _anyone_ would do exactly what she had done.

 _Even Monet?_

Penelope fought back the thought. Monet had always been at a disadvantage because of their power, but even more so because of their attitude. Their trust, their jokes, their giggling and smiling.

Their smile…

 _Stop it._

Penelope tucked her arms under Monet's body and leapt. She had just enough energy stored up to get them back to the top of the cliff. Penelope laid Monet's body gently on the ground. There had been no point, maybe, in leaping down to the beach first. Maybe she had been stalling. Maybe she simply hadn't wanted anyone to see…

But they had seen. They must have. Surely the MAAB had cameras watching the beach. They were watching. They were _always_ watching. That was why they had sent the note. They knew she would have to take action.

They knew she would do what had to be done.

 _Think_. Penelope retrieved Monet's pocketknife from their pocket. Most likely, it wouldn't do any good. What could she do with a pocketknife that she couldn't do with her powers? But it _was_ useful for cutting up the fish.

The fish. That was the next thing. She stuffed as many as she could into her backpack, along with both of their parachutes, Rachel's tarp, and her own cord. That was it. All she had. All she would need.

All she could do now was try to end this quickly.

* * *

 **Dr. Lillian Stowe, 57**

" _This_ was Alvin's brilliant plan to end the Games quickly?"

Lillian glanced up with a smile. "Problem?" As far as she could tell, everything was going smoothly.

Mack shook his head. "I was expecting something a bit more … complicated, I suppose. Just drop a bunch of packages with sevens on the island? _That's_ the plan? Just … lie to them?"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"But the numbers—"

Lillian shrugged. "Never told them it was the number of contestants left. They assumed that on their own – or, at least, enough of them did. But what it actually stands for is the number of contestants who died today … well, until Monet, that is."

"Clever."

Lillian smirked. "Maybe. Alvin was against using it, though. Said we should save it for an emergency. But since they still haven't managed to wake him…"

"Why?"

"Presumably because Diana wants to keep him in the dreamland as long as—"

"Not what I meant. Why _not_ use it? It's already working pretty well. And I can't imagine he objected just because we'd by lying … manipulating … them."

Lillian nodded. "Of course not. He wanted to save it as an option for a later date because it'll only work once. The contestants this year trust us – or, at least, enough of them do. Some of them have figured out that they can't really trust any information they're given, but most of them would take it at face value if we sent a message that clearly said _seven contestants left_."

"But…"

"But now they'll know better next time, because next year's contestants might have seen what we've done this year. And even if they haven't – even if we manage to edit everything that might suggest we've been deceptive out of the footage – their coaches will tell them not to trust the messages we send. So it'll work … but only this time. I just hope this time is enough."

"You and me both," Mack agreed. "But I still don't understand—"

Before he could finish, however, Anita poked her head in the room. "Sorry to interrupt. Alvin's awake. Board meeting – _now_. Sounds urgent."

"Always does," Lillian muttered as the younger doctor scurried off.

Mack chuckled. "Who made her a board member?"

"No one," Lillian assured him. "But she might as well stay informed. The more information everyone has, the better."

Mack shook his head. "Don't go into politics."

"Psychology pays better."

"Politics is more fun."

Lillian rolled her eyes. "I'm getting too old for that sort of fun. Once we get these Games on a more solid foundation, I plan to retire somewhere nice and quiet where the most urgent problem is a smoke alarm going off from an overcooked dinner. That's the plan, at least." She shook her head.

"Funny how things never seem to work out that way."

* * *

" _No. Not Plan B. Plan 2. Plan B implies we only have 26."_


	29. What I Do

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the final ten poll are up on the website. There's a new poll up on my profile, this time asking who you _think_ will be the Victor. Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you _want_ to see as the Victor. (That's the next poll.) As usual, **read the chapter first** , because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll. And ... well, there are a few of those. This is where things start to move a bit faster...

* * *

 **What I Do**

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51  
** **March 21st, 23:45 AKST**

At least they were finally doing what they had to do.

Judah leaned back in his chair, scanning the faces around the table. Their sagging posture, the weary looks in their eyes, the way most of them kept fidgeting, trying to stay awake. They were all tired. And, soon enough, they'd be able to get some sleep. But this couldn't wait until morning.

One of the coaches had agreed to cooperate and let Alvin talk to Diana. _After_ they'd done what he'd been suggesting from the start: split the coaches up. The less they talked to each other, the less they could plan. The less they could plan, the less they could act cohesively as a group, and the more they would have to rely on their own judgment. And the more they had to rely on their own judgment…

The more they could be manipulated. The way Alvin had manipulated Ian. He hadn't outright _lied_ , certainly. He'd appealed to his fellow mathematician's sense of logic. Judah couldn't help a small smile as Alvin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at the papers in front of him. Clearly, he didn't _like_ what he'd had to do, but he'd done it nonetheless. That was the thing about Alvin. He was a bit odd, but he was reliable. He'd gripe and fuss about everything, yes, but when it came down to it, they could count on him to get the job done.

"I don't think we'll have any more problems from Diana," Alvin reported, adjusting the sling around his arm. Whatever deal he'd managed to negotiate in the dreamland, it hadn't come easily. "She's agreed to give a false location to whoever she's managed to contact."

Judah perked up. "Where?"

"I told her to choose another Alaskan island at her discretion. Understandably, she doesn't want us to know _where_ she's sending them. The agreement was to keep them off our scent, not to lure them into a trap."

Judah shrugged. It had been worth a shot. "Do we know _who_ she's managed to contact?"

Alvin shook his head. "We don't know for certain that she's actually contacted _anyone_. She was rather vague."

"So we might have gained absolutely nothing."

"And we might have avoided an assault on the island. The math supports the latter."

"Of course it does. What are we giving her in return?"

"Nothing that won't eventually play in our favor. I promised her that relatives of previous contestants would be exempt from consideration for further Games."

Mack nodded. "Nothing we weren't planning to do anyway, unless there was a compelling reason otherwise. If we make it look like we're targeting certain families rather than mutants in general, we lose the whole point of the Games."

"Exactly," Alvin agreed. "Besides, this affects a handful of potential candidates at the most. She has a brother who's a mutant. Ky's sister. Rachel's brother. Isadore's cousin, but he's older than this year's contestants, anyway. Aside from them, maybe a few others that we either don't know about or whose powers haven't manifested yet. The point is, there are plenty of other mutants to choose from. This costs us nothing."

Lillian leaned forward a little. Alvin's tone didn't sound particularly promising. "But…"

"But there's something else she wanted – one more thing I had to promise before she would agree to my terms. Still, I think it's something that could work in our favor in the long run – if we play our cards right."

He was stalling. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be good, but there was no point in beating around the bush. _Civilians._ Judah rolled his eyes.

"Which is…?"

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She knew what she had to do.

Penelope pulled her jacket tighter as she trudged onward in the dark. Everything she needed was stuffed in her backpack; she'd left the rest with Monet's body. The extra backpacks. Some of the fish. Anything that wouldn't fit in her own backpack. She wouldn't need much, after all. The Games weren't likely to last much longer, even if she did nothing.

But doing nothing wasn't an option.

Doing nothing had never been an option. She had thought, for a little while, that maybe – just _maybe_ – she would be able to avoid doing what they wanted. That she would only have to kill if someone attacked her, as she had done with the boy who had attacked them the first night. But that had never been a real possibility. That wasn't what she was trained to do. That wasn't who she was.

That had never been who she was.

Penelope peered into the darkness ahead of her. She was getting closer – closer to the mountain she knew was there in the distance. But not just a mountain. Not if she was lucky. No, she had a pretty good idea of what was really under that mountain – what was under _most_ of Alaska's islands. Alaska's _volcanic_ islands.

Power. Energy. More than she would need to end the Games. Maybe more than she could handle. She would have to be careful. And she would have to find a way to tap it. After all, the volcano was dormant. Had been for years, or else there wouldn't be this amount of vegetation on the island. Would there?

One problem at a time. First, she had to _get_ there. Then she could figure out how to make use of the volcano's energy. If she even needed to. There were only six contestants left, after all. There was no telling how many more might die by the time she actually got there. If she got lucky…

If she got lucky, the others might kill each other off before she had a chance to use the energy from the volcano. If there were only six of them left, after all, there were certainly others who had been fighting. Who had been killing. She'd only killed two contestants.

Two. The boy who had attacked her. And Monet. She had killed Monet. Monet, who had been willing to trust Penelope with their life, who hadn't seemed to care that they were trapped in a death match, as long as they had company. As long as they were together.

 _Stop it._ Monet had needed to die. In fact, it was only thanks to Penelope that they'd lasted as long as they had. If Penelope hadn't saved their life the first night…

Maybe she shouldn't have. But, try as she might, she couldn't regret it. Couldn't regret the time she's spent with Monet, even if it had ended all too soon. Maybe that was just how life was always going to be. She hadn't regretted her time spent with Harper, or with Linda and the others, even though it had come to an end.

Things always seemed to come to an end too soon.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

They seemed to have come to a dead end.

Cassidy shook her head as she, Ben, and Natasha stopped short just at the edge of the cliff. Ben's headlamp was enough to let them see in the dark, but they'd lost the trail a long time ago. They'd kept moving in a straight line, hoping that maybe the other contestants had done the same, but they'd reached what seemed to be the other end of the island without finding anyone.

Maybe it was for the best. If someone had managed to overpower whoever had created the storm earlier, they probably had something up their sleeve – something powerful. Were those really people they wanted to run into? Were those really people they wanted to be _following_?

Maybe not. And maybe Ben losing their trail hadn't entirely been an accident. She was pretty certain he hadn't done it on purpose, but the water around him had been melting all day. Maybe he was as nervous as she was about finding whoever was on the other end of the trail. Maybe he realized what she did – that whoever they were tracking could be dangerous. Very dangerous.

Natasha, on the other hand, didn't seem nervous at all – which was just making Cassidy even more anxious. Natasha was the one who had killed Parker, after all. Sure, she'd only done it because Parker would have frozen to death anyway, and they'd wanted to get on their way. Still, Cassidy couldn't imagine herself being quite so calm. She hadn't been nearly as calm after Juliska…

Then again, she'd never meant to kill Juliska. That had been an accident. But did that make it better or worse? Natasha had _meant_ to kill Parker. Cassidy had meant to strike them with the water, too, of course, but she'd been aiming for Clara. The one who had attacked Natasha. She'd been defending her friend.

Hadn't she?

Clara _had_ been attacking Natasha, hadn't she?

Cassidy shook her head. Now wasn't the time to start getting suspicious of her friends. They had more important things to worry about. Like what they were going to do for the night.

"Here's probably as good a place as any to get some rest," Ben suggested, as if he'd been able to read her thoughts. "We're near the water in case anything happens, and no one will be able to sneak up on us."

"Sounds good," Natasha agreed quickly. Maybe a little _too_ quickly. "I'll take the first watch."

Ben nodded, as if he didn't see the slightest thing wrong with that, and handed his headlamp over to Natasha. "Wake us up if you see anything – or hear anything. Or … you know. If something happens." He quickly lay down, closing his eyes. Maybe he was just too tired to care that something was off. Something was wrong.

Or maybe he didn't see it. Maybe he was so used to working as a team that he didn't realize that anything was wrong. Maybe there _was_ nothing wrong. Maybe she was just being paranoid. But there was definitely something fishy about the way Natasha had offered to keep watch.

"I think I'll stay up a little while, too," Cassidy offered. "Want something to eat?" She dug a few of the fish out of her backpack.

Natasha nodded. "Sure." She smiled a little – a little too quickly. Cassidy couldn't help watching Natasha closely as she handed her a fish. What was going on?

What was she missing?

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

They had to be around here somewhere.

Jayden held her breath as Snowball led the way in the dark. It had been Verona's idea – asking the fox to help them look for other contestants. So far, they'd been making use of Snowball's sense of smell to help them _avoid_ running into other contestants. But if they were right about what the number seven meant – if there were only seven of them left on the island – then maybe looking for other contestants was a good idea.

It was certainly better than the alternative. Because if there were only seven of them left, and they kept avoiding the others, it was only a matter of time before either someone found _them_ … or before they were they only ones left. And she didn't want the Games to come down to the three of them.

Jayden quickened her pace to keep up with the fox. What would they do, if it _did_ come down to the three of them? If they were the only ones left, would they still have to fight? Or could they simply decide not to? What could the MAAB do if they simply decided not to fight each other? Leave them on the island forever? It wasn't as if she had much to go back to.

But what about the others? Austin and Verona – they had families. Families that they certainly wanted to get back to. Would they be willing to kill to get back to them?

Would they be willing to kill _her_?

 _Stop it._ That was why they were looking for other contestants, after all – so that they wouldn't have to worry about the thought of fighting each other. If they found someone else – or if someone else found them first – then they could figure that problem out first. But then…

Then. They would worry about 'then' later. If there _was_ a then. Chances were, if they found someone else, if it came down to a fight, at least one of them would end up dead. Maybe all of them. Sure, they had knives, but would that really do them any good against mutants with _real_ powers? Powers that would actually be useful in a fight.

Suddenly, Snowball stopped. She smelled something. Jayden took a step closer. _What is it?_ They were close. Very close. They would have to be quiet now.

They didn't want anyone else to hear them coming.

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

He could already hear them coming.

Simon glanced over at Reese and nodded. He'd been able to hear them for a while now – two or three sets of human footprints, and … something else. Some sort of animal, maybe? There was a contestant who could turn into a bear, but it didn't sound big enough to be a bear. Were there other sorts of animals on this island? There were fish in the lake, but…

"We should get moving before they find us," Reese whispered.

Simon shook his head. "Don't you get it? This is our chance. If we can convince them to help us, we might be able to catch the girl at the lake off guard. Maybe even overpower her. They might have some sort of powers that would be useful—"

"Or they might have some sort of powers that will _kill_ us," Reese hissed. "Do you really want to take that chance?"

"It's either take our chances with them, or take our chances against the girl at the lake," Simon reasoned. "They don't know what we can do, either."

"That didn't exactly help us last time," Reese pointed out.

Simon shook his head. "And you have a better plan?"

"No, I just—"

"Exactly," Simon snapped. "You don't know what you think we _should_ do – just what we _shouldn't_ do. But sitting around and doing nothing isn't an option anymore. We have to do _something_ , and I say we have a better chance if there are more of us."

"A better chance of what?" a voice behind him asked.

Simon whirled around, startled. He could have sworn the footsteps were farther away than that. The little boy seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He had a knife in his hand, but he wasn't making any threatening moves. Then again, if his power was that he could move _that_ quickly, they might not have time to _see_ a threatening move before they were dead.

"Surviving," Simon answered quickly. "I know there are a few more of you. Where are the others?"

"Back there." The boy nodded behind him in the dark. "They sent me ahead because I'm the fastest. But they're coming."

Okay. So his power _did_ have something to do with being quick. But if he'd wanted to kill them, he could have simply stabbed them. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment. Or maybe he didn't want to kill them. "There's a lake that way," Simon blurted out.

The boy shook his head. "So what? There are rivers all over the place back in that direction."

 _What?_

"Have you found any food?" Reese asked.

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

 _The fox has been finding voles for us._

That was what he'd _wanted_ to say. What he'd _meant_ to say. But what came out instead was, "No. Just a few mushrooms, but we don't know if they're edible."

Verona. She was changing his words. Was she mad that he was talking to their opponents rather than fighting? They'd sent him ahead to scout out how many of them there were and what sort of powers they might have, but he had a feeling Verona had expected him to attack. After all, if they'd simply wanted to figure out how many of them there were, they could have sent Snowball.

She wanted a fight.

One of the boys nodded along. "We haven't found much, either." But the other one was looking at him strangely, then at Verona and Jayden behind him.

"Yeah," he agreed vaguely. "Haven't found much. Just another contestant down by the lake."

"Two," the other boy corrected. "I'm pretty sure I heard two different voices. I can't really be sure, because her power is creating duplicates of herself, but…"

Verona nodded a little. "So two contestants there. Two of you. Three of us. That's seven."

The older boy shrugged. "What's so special about seven?"

"It's just strange that there would be seven of us so close together in one area," Jayden offered. "But that's probably because it's where the water is." But her expression said something different. Maybe she'd been trying to _say_ something different.

Before anyone could say anything else, however, the older boy took off running – in the direction Austin, Jayden, and Verona had come from. Snowball gave a little yip, but no one made a move to follow him. If he wanted to run, chances were he wouldn't be able to get away. Maybe Austin would have been able to catch up to him, but then what? Fight him? _Kill_ him? The boy was older – quite a bit older – and something had scared _him_.

But what?

Seven. There were seven of them. And only seven of them left. Wherever he was running, he wouldn't be able to run for long. Maybe that was what Jayden had meant to say, before Verona had decided to alter her words. Maybe she'd wanted to tell them that this was it – that it was just the seven of them left on the island.

Austin shook his head as the other boy watched them curiously. "What spooked him?" the other boy asked.

Verona shrugged. "I don't know. But if there are two contestants over there and four of us, I'd say we have them outnumbered."

The boy shook his head. "One of the girls can duplicate herself."

"And I can talk to animals," Jayden offered. "We have a fox on our side – and whatever other animals happen to be in the area."

Austin bit his tongue. Jayden was buying into Verona's act. Verona _wanted_ them to attack. But maybe she was right. If there were only seven of them left – and if they'd _found_ the others – maybe it was better if the fight started on their terms, rather than the other group's.

Maybe she had the right idea, after all.

* * *

 **Simon Herrick, 16**

Maybe the kids had the right idea, after all.

Simon nodded as the four of them headed for the lake, where the other two girls would almost certainly be waiting for them. But maybe they would get lucky. Maybe their sheer numbers would be enough to overpower the other girls, if they could somehow catch them off guard.

Or maybe Reese had the right idea. The younger boy had said that there was water back in the direction they had come from. Why risk their lives to fight the girls at the lake when they could simply find water elsewhere?

But he had to admit, it felt good to be doing _something_. To have a plan – even if it wasn't much of one. A plan that they were actually going to act on, rather than stalling like Reese had been. He still had Rory's pocketknife. Two of the three younger contestants were armed. As far as he could remember, the girl at the lake hadn't actually _had_ any weapons – not until she'd taken Rory's knife.

Rory. It felt like ages since he'd been killed. Since the girl had killed him. Maybe that was why it felt good – the idea that they would be attacking her. Maybe that could make up for Rory's death. Rory was dead, yes, and Reese had run, but he'd found some new allies. Allies who wanted to take action.

What more could he ask for?

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

What more could she ask for?

Cyrene couldn't help a smile as she and Clara finished off the last of the fish they'd caught. Clara couldn't perfectly control an animal's body the way she could control a human's, but she could keep a fish motionless in the shallow water while one of Cyrene's clones went to fetch it. Cyrene quickly absorbed the clones afterwards to keep them from catching their death in the cold water, but it was an effective method of catching dinner, if nothing else.

A late dinner, to be sure. The sun had set hours ago, but she still wasn't tired. Or maybe she simply didn't want to leave her clones in charge of keeping watch. But it was the most logical thing to do. She couldn't stay awake forever, and Clara was still recovering from the cold. It made sense to ask her clones to do the work, but…

But the only reason Clara was here in the first place was because one of her clones had decided to wander off. Sure, it had turned out pretty well this time, but what about the next time? What if one of them wandered off and got killed? What if one of them got in a fight? What if one of them was _killed_? What would happen to her if one of her clones was killed? What would happen to them if _she_ was killed?

 _Stop it._ She wasn't planning on getting killed anytime soon. But no one really _planned_ on getting killed. No one wanted to die. The boy she had killed before – he hadn't wanted to die. Clara's ally Parker hadn't wanted to die. But they had. They were dead.

And she was still alive. Cyrene stared out into the darkness. Would leaving one of her clones awake to watch even do any good? It wasn't as if they could see much, anyway. Maybe if they could start a fire…

But that would attract attention. And that was the last thing they needed. Besides, there wasn't much in the area to start a fire _with._ Their clothes, maybe – or some of the clothes her clones always materialized with – but what could they light it with? Some warmth certainly sounded good, but the _light_ might attract other contestants.

But would it really attract them any more than the water would? The boys who had been working with the one she'd killed – they were probably still alive somewhere, and they knew where she was. Unless they'd managed to find another source of water, it was only a matter of time before they decided to chance coming back. Was it really safe to stay here?

"Are you all right?" Clara's voice caught her by surprise. She looked … concerned, almost. Cyrene couldn't help a smile. How long had it been since anyone had really been concerned about her? Certainly no one else in the arena had cared about whether she lived or died. Her coach, maybe. Vincent. Her clones, yes, but they _had_ to care. Clara didn't _have_ to care about whether she was all right. But she did, anyway.

Suddenly, she could hear footsteps – quick footsteps. Before she had time to react, a boy was standing in front of them. Cyrene leapt to her feet as Clara held out her hand, stopping the boy in mid-stride. Clara shook her head. "That's close enough, kid. What do you want?"

The boy stared, dumbfounded at not being able to move, clutching the knife in his hand tightly. "Help!" he called, and suddenly there were more footsteps. "Help! Jayden! Verona!"

Jayden. Verona. That was two. But there were three shapes in the dark – coming quickly closer. Cyrene glanced at Clara, who shook her head. She could only control three of them at a time under the best of circumstances. They would need more help.

Cyrene nodded, and Rana, Stella, Luna, and Tira appeared between them and the group of contestants that was quickly approaching. A few more clones appeared behind them. Cyrene took a deep breath, hoping they would listen. _Protect us._

That was what she'd _meant_ to say. What came out, instead, was, "Kill everyone except the girl on the left."

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

"Kill everyone except the girl on the left."

Clara glanced at Cyrene, unsure what she was more surprised by – her ordering her clones to kill, or ordering them to spare one of the girls. Why? Could she tell, even in the dim light, that the girl on the left was unarmed? Maybe. But there wasn't much time for her to think about it, because the clones immediately rushed towards the intruders – both the boy that Clara was already holding in place and the three in the distance. Clara let go of the boy as he was tackled by three of Cyrene's clones. They could handle him. His power seemed to have something to do with moving quickly, which had let him sneak up on them, but he didn't seem to be much of a threat physically.

But the others … there was no telling what they could do. Clara rushed towards the other three along with Cyrene's clones, leaving Cyrene behind, watching. Sure enough, the clones seemed to be avoiding the girl on their left, but the other two were already surrounded.

Surrounded, but armed. One of them – a small girl with a fox at her side – had a knife, and the other – a taller boy, older than the others – had a small pocketknife. But that wasn't the real threat. A couple of knives were nothing compared to whatever else they might be able to do. Whatever other powers they might have.

But there wasn't anything she could do about that. There _was_ something she could do about their weapons. Clara concentrated, and, instantly, the pair of them froze.

She just hoped that would be enough.

* * *

 **Jayden Parker, 13**

She'd hoped their numbers would be enough.

Jayden tried to move. Tried to wriggle. Tried to squirm out of whatever was grasping her. But it did no good. Nothing would move – not even her eyes. Snowball was barking at the copies of the girl, but the fox could only keep them away for so long. Jayden gripped her knife tightly, but that couldn't help her if she couldn't move.

She was going to die. They were _all_ going to die. Austin might already be dead. Next to her, the older boy was frozen, just like her. But Verona…

Verona. Where was she? She seemed to be gone. Maybe she'd had the sense to run before the girl could do anything. Maybe there was a limit to how many people she could control at once. Maybe…

But that wouldn't save them.

One of the clones reached for her. Snowball leapt, sinking her teeth deep into the clone's arm. Jayden heard a scream from closer to the river. Maybe whoever was controlling the copies could feel what was happening to them. But one fox couldn't fight off an entire army of clones. Jayden could feel tears in her eyes as one of them gave Snowball a kick. Snowball gave a little yelp but bared her teeth, ready to strike again.

 _Run._ Maybe she couldn't move, but she could still think. She could still communicate with Snowball. Maybe she couldn't save herself, but she could save her friend. _Run, Snowball._

The fox hesitated. But only for a moment. Ducking between the nearest clone's legs, she took off into the darkness. Good. Jayden could feel the fox's thoughts fading into the distance. Maybe she was going to die, but that didn't mean her friend had to.

One of the clones reached for her knife.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

One of the clones reached for the girl's knife.

Clara blinked, and the girl relaxed her grip on her knife. The fox had run off, but there was no telling what other animals might be nearby. Clara nodded a little. She hadn't recognized her at first in the dark – the little girl that John had attacked on the first day of training. The one who could talk to animals. Clara had saved her life then by freezing John.

But she couldn't afford to save her again. Not when she had no way of knowing what other animals the girl might be able to summon. She hadn't seen anything on the island besides fish, but that didn't necessarily mean that there wasn't anything more dangerous. What if the fox had left to fetch more of them? Foxes, wolves, maybe even bears. There could be _anything_ on the island.

So their only option was to eliminate the person who could control them. Clara swallowed hard as she watched. The clone – Clara wasn't even certain which – took the knife from the little girl's hand. The girl's eyes grew wide. Clara took a deep breath. Could she really do this?

But she didn't have to do anything. She just had to watch. She just had to look on as the clone drove the knife into the little girl's heart. Blood poured out, but the body stayed standing erect until Clara let go. Then the clones turned to the boy. His eyes were wide. Frightened. But it would all be over soon. Clara nodded, forcing herself to watch as the knife entered his chest, as the clones pried the pocketknife loose from his fingers.

But then they turned towards her.

Clara took a step backwards. What were they doing? She counted at least six of them – too many for her to control. But why would Cyrene want to kill her?

 _Kill everyone except the girl on the left._ That was what Cyrene had said. Did 'everyone' include her? Surely Cyrene hadn't meant for it to.

Clara sprinted back towards the lake.

* * *

 **Austin Vonley, 13**

They wouldn't get off of him.

Austin gripped his knife tightly, striking out at the clones as quickly as he could, but no matter what he did, they held onto him tightly. Maybe they realized that if they let go – even for a second – he could run. He _would_ run. But could he even run now? They were punching, kicking, trying to wrench the knife out of his grip. One of them held his leg down, too far away for him to get a good shot at her. Another kept punching his face. There was blood in his mouth. A third was kicking his stomach. At least, he was pretty sure it was a third and not one of the other two. He couldn't tell them apart.

Suddenly, he could hear something else – someone running towards them. "Cyrene!" A girl's voice. But not one of the clones. "Cyrene, call them off! They're trying to kill me!"

Austin couldn't help a chuckle, even as a pair of hands closed around his throat. Tighter. Tighter. Maybe they were going to kill him. But they were also turning on each other. That meant one of them wouldn't win. Maybe Jayden and Verona were still alive. Maybe…

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

What were her clones thinking?

Cyrene stared, horrified, as three of her clones finally let the boy's body go. Six of the others were chasing Clara back towards the lake. What were they doing? She hadn't told them to kill _anyone_.

Or, at least, she hadn't meant to.

She'd heard the words leave her mouth. But that wasn't what she had meant to say. She'd only wanted the clones to protect her. To protect her _and_ Clara. She certainly hadn't meant to tell the clones to kill her friend.

But that was what they were about to do, if she couldn't get them to stop. She opened her mouth again, but, again, the wrong words came out. "Kill them! Kill them all!"

 _No!_ That wasn't what she'd meant. What was happening to her words? Clara stopped short, startled by the words Cyrene hadn't meant to scream.

Suddenly, she was frozen. Clara. Did she mean to kill her? Maybe, but her clones were faster. And Clara couldn't control all of them at once.

If one of them had to die, then it would be Clara.

* * *

 **Clara Seville, 19**

If one of them had to die, it wasn't going to be her.

Clara shook her head as she made a break for the boy's body. She wasn't sure what had happened to Cyrene – or maybe what had happened to her clones – but she wasn't going to let them kill her. Before any of the clones could stop her, she scooped up the knife that lay in the boy's lifeless hand. Then she turned to the clones.

She couldn't hold all of them off, but if she focused on the ones that were armed – with the other girl's knife and the boy's pocketknife – then maybe she had a chance. Maybe she would be able to fend them off.

Maybe she would be able to _kill_ them.

Clara gripped the knife tightly. What would happen to Cyrene if she killed her clones? Would she die, too? Would they be absorbed back into her? Could she simply summon more? Maybe. One thing at a time. She froze the two with weapons, but the others were still coming. And it was taking all her concentration to keep them frozen – along with Cyrene. Could she really hold on long enough to—

One of them dove for her legs. Clara kicked, but a second clone tackled her to the ground. She struck out with her knife, flailing blindly in the dark. One of the clones held her arm down. Another one grabbed her legs. She could still see the other three – Cyrene and the two clones who were armed – frozen in the background.

 _Think._

She stopped flailing. The clones didn't stop punching, but that didn't matter. She had to get Cyrene closer. Closer. Cyrene's eyes widened as she started walking towards them, her arms outstretched, ready to touch the clones, to absorb them back into her. But was it something that happened automatically when she touched them, or did she have to _want_ to absorb them back?

She would just have to find out. Right now, it was her only chance. Cyrene touched one clone, and then another. One by one, the clones began to disappear. Suddenly, Clara felt something sharp against her chest. One of the clones had managed to wrench the knife from her hand. "Stop!" the clone insisted. "I'll kill you."

Maybe she would. But that was what they were planning to do, anyway. As Cyrene reached out her hand to absorb the clone with the knife, the blade plunged into Clara's chest. Clara gasped, but managed to hold onto her control as Cyrene absorbed the last of the clones – the two who were standing off to the side, frozen.

"Why?" Clara gasped, staring at the knife in her chest. "Why would you tell them to kill me?"

Just then, she heard another voice from the shadows. "She didn't."

* * *

 **Cyrene Lykovski, 16**

"She didn't."

Cyrene clenched her teeth tightly as the girl appeared. One of the younger ones – no more than thirteen or fourteen. But that hadn't stopped her from taking control of Cyrene's voice. Cyrene could feel tears in her eyes. It was all too much. The chaos in her head from the clones she'd absorbed. The pain where Clara had stabbed them. Their confusion. _Her_ confusion. She wanted to summon a few of them. Or maybe just one. Just enough to kill the girl. But, for the first time, none of them appeared.

It didn't make any sense. Clara had said that she couldn't stop the other contestants from using their powers. So why wouldn't her clones appear? They'd never refused to appear before. Well, except when her collar—

Oh. When her collar was on. Had they turned it back on? Maybe. But why? Why would they want to stop her clones from appearing? Why would they want her dead?

The other girl picked up the knife from where Rana had dropped it. Cyrene wanted to shake her head. To close her eyes. To look away. But she couldn't. There was nothing to do but watch as the little girl plunged the knife into her chest.

She couldn't even scream.

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

She didn't even scream.

Verona took a deep breath as she pulled the knife out of the girl's chest. Then she stabbed again, and this time the girl's body dropped to the ground.

The other girl must have released her. The girl who was bleeding on the shore of the lake. "I told them to kill you," Verona said quietly, trying to keep the tears from her voice. "I told them to kill all of you. You and her and the boy who was with us and Austin and … and Jayden. I wanted them to kill all of you so I … so I can go home. I just want to go home."

Verona sank to her knees, her stomach churning as she saw the blood pouring from the girl's chest. "I just want to go home." Her voice was little more than a whimper now. They were dead. They were all dead.

And it was her fault.

But there was still one more. Somewhere out there, the other boy – the older boy – was still alive. He still had to die. Only one more person had to die.

Then she could go home.

Verona watched silently as the other girl's body went limp. Tears stung her eyes in the freezing cold. Verona didn't bother trying to brush them away. She had tried to tell the others. Tried to warn them that they would have to do something eventually. That they would have to fight. That they would have to kill.

It had been easier to say it. Actually _seeing_ it – actually _doing_ it – was something else. Verona tucked her knees to her chest, her tears flowing freely. They were dead. They were _all_ dead.

And she was still alive.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 27  
** **Coach**

"Holy shit."

Vincent shook his head, sinking back into his chair. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected when Verona's group had decided to attack Cyrene's, but … this certainly wasn't it. He'd figured out what was going on, of course. The look on Cyrene's face when the wrong words had come out of her mouth was all too familiar. He'd felt the same on the first day, before training, when Verona had swapped his words for a few rhymes from a book.

But this was different. This time, her words hadn't been a harmless prank. This time, her words had killed – a fact that was beginning to sink in, perhaps, as she sat crying on the beach. And all that because she had misinterpreted the number seven that the MAAB had sent.

Misinterpreted … or perhaps interpreted exactly the way they had wanted her to. Were they trying to speed the Games up? He hadn't seen or heard from any of them since they'd taken him away from Maria and Ian, given him an injection of some sort, and locked him in a smaller room. At least they'd left him with a television screen so he could still see what was going on in the Games, but he had no way to contact anyone.

Unless he fell asleep, but he hadn't been able to do that. Maybe whatever they had injected him with was keeping him awake. Maybe he was simply too anxious to fall asleep. Either way, being able to communicate with Diana wasn't likely to change the situation. They were surely already moving as quickly as they could; badgering them wouldn't make it any better.

Maybe that was why the MAAB was trying to speed up the Games. Maybe they figured if they could get things moving fast enough, it wouldn't matter whether or not anyone came to save them. Maybe they were hoping that if things kept moving at this pace, by the time anyone reached the island, there wouldn't be anyone left to save.

And maybe they were right.

* * *

" _I'm the best at what I do, but what I do isn't very nice."_


	30. Stronger

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't already.

* * *

 **Stronger**

* * *

 **Representative Mack Urban, 36  
** **March 22nd, 03:12 AKST**

Things were moving even more quickly than he'd expected.

Mack shook his head as he and Alvin watched the screen. The others had finally gone to bed, instructing him to wake them if something unexpected happened. But most of the contestants seemed to be settling down for the night. Most of them, that was, except Verona. And Reese, who was still racing frantically in the opposite direction.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. Verona had changed Jayden's words, but Reese, with his ability to understand what anyone was saying, had heard what she'd _really_ meant. And she had probably meant to say that there were only seven contestants left.

That hadn't been true then, of course, but it was much closer to being true now. There were only twelve mutants left on the island. Less than half of the number they'd started with. Almost down to a third. And it was only the end of the second day.

Or the beginning of the third, depending on how they were counting. It was past midnight, but Alvin showed no signs of wanting to take a break. He kept on tinkering with the screens, turning the cameras this way and that to get a better view, adjusting the feed here and the lighting there. Maybe he simply didn't _want_ to get any sleep.

After what had happened the last time he'd fallen asleep, of course, Mack could hardly blame him. Alvin's arm was still in a sling, his wrist red from whatever had happened to him in the dreamworld. With that, on top of the damage John had done to his face, he seemed to be faring worse than some of the mutants in the arena.

"I have to admit your plan worked pretty well," Mack offered at last, breaking the silence. "Sending them those numbers to get them moving – that was a good idea."

Alvin nodded a little. "Sure."

"I mean, Verona would hardly have done what she did if she didn't think that there were only _seven_ of them left. As far as she's concerned, she's wiped out most of the competition."

Alvin shook his head. "And what happens when she finds out she was wrong?"

"Pardon?"

"Didn't think that through, did you. Eventually, she's going to run into _someone_ else. In all likelihood, someone who _isn't_ Reese. What happens when she finds out we lied to her?"

Mack shrugged. "I imagine she'll be upset. But if anything, that'll serve as more of a motivation for her to get back and … well, get even with us, I suppose. But it's not as if she can really _do_ anything."

"You said the same thing about Diana. Look what she's done."

"You're saying the little girl's a threat."

"I'm saying _any_ of them could be. That's what I've been saying all along."

"But you were the one who said we should agree to Diana's plan to—"

"Because we don't have a _choice._ None of us. None of them. There _are_ no good choices." Alvin leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. "But we still have to choose," he mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Something my dad used to say. _Sometimes the only choices we have are bad ones, but we still have to choose._ There are no good choices here. For any of us. Not now. Maybe not ever again. But we still have to do _something_ , because doing nothing isn't an option. _Something_ is going to happen, and it's going to happen soon."

"What are you talking about?"

Alvin opened his good eye. "Have you seen where Penelope's going?"

"Towards the mountain."

"And I suppose you still haven't figured out why."

Mack crossed his arms. "Well, once it's light again, it might be the best place to get a good view of what's going on. Get the lay of the land, so to speak."

"No."

"No? What do you mean?"

"I mean no. That's not why she's going there. That's not what she's planning to do. You think it's a coincidence that Judah told us that now would be the best time to get some sleep? It'll take her a few more hours, at least, to reach the mountain. I bet she's figured it out."

Mack glared. "Figured _what_ out?"

"What kind of island they're on. What kind of island Lillian and I chose. We didn't even think twice. We were just looking for somewhere remote. Somewhere barren and desolate. We weren't counting on Hadley."

"Hadley?" He'd been dead for … well, not even a day, really. It seemed longer. What did he have to do with anything?

"The fissure he opened in the ground, when they were roasting those voles. He didn't mean to, I'm sure, but there's no way that didn't have some effect on the stability of the island."

"The stability of the island?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I'm saying?" Alvin grumbled. "He weakened the island, and now all Penelope has to do is exploit that. I'm not even sure she realizes how easy it's going to be. All that energy – that energy that Hadley already tapped. Just waiting for her, under the surface of the island."

"You think she's going to make the island explode?" Could she do that? Did she really have that sort of power? He wouldn't have guessed that was a possibility, but he'd been wrong before. He hadn't thought Diana was a threat. He hadn't thought _Verona_ was a threat. Penelope's power was more obviously destructive.

"Explode. Crumble. Split apart. _Something_. She's probably hoping it'll be something that will kill the … what? Five other contestants she thinks are left?"

"Will it?"

"I don't know," Alvin admitted. "Depends on how well she can control that amount of energy. Maybe it'll kill them. Maybe it'll kill _her_. Maybe it'll just break the island up into tiny bits and we'll just have to see who can swim the longest in freezing water."

"Cassidy would probably last a while," Mack guessed. "Natasha can levitate. Ben can keep himself warm, at least. Looks pretty good for that group."

" _If_ that's what happens," Alvin pointed out. "We have no way of knowing. And that's the point. This whole situation is unpredictable."

"Even for you."

Alvin finally smiled a little. "Even for me."

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

It was getting too dark to even see where he was going.

Cameron sank to the ground, hoping he didn't sit on anything too uncomfortable. It was too dark to even see what might be below him, let alone in front of them. Fortunately, he wasn't sitting on anything sharp – just wet. Melting snow, maybe. Or maybe he was near some other sort of water. He was pretty sure he couldn't be back at the lake yet. He'd been moving in the right direction – he was certain of that, at least – but ever since the sun had set, the going had been slow. And he certainly didn't want to take a wrong step and make too much noise.

Or take a wrong step off a cliff. That was also a possibility. But he would be able to tell if he was close to the water, wouldn't he? He would be able to hear the waves. Probably. But would they really sound any different than the wind?

 _Calm down._ There was no point in getting jumpy. Not now that he had decided to stop. Once the sun rose again, he would be able to see where he was going.

Of course, that also meant that the other contestants would be able to see _him._ Which was why he couldn't afford to fall asleep. If he did, there was no guarantee that he would wake up before they found him. He could be fast asleep when someone else found him and decided to kill him. There would be no one to stop them.

Just like he hadn't been there to stop anyone from killing Tariq.

 _Stop it._ He wasn't even sure that Tariq was dead. He could be alive. He might even still be _asleep._ There was only one way to find out, but that would have to wait until morning. He couldn't risk going any farther in the dark.

What difference would a few hours make?

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

A few minutes could make all the difference.

Reese gasped for breath as he kept running. He was exhausted, and he could barely see where he was going in the dark, but he had to put as much distance as he could between him and the others. And if the girl was right, he didn't have to worry about running into anyone else. Because there wasn't anyone else _left_. No one but the group he'd left behind – Simon and the three younger contestants who had found him. And the two contestants they'd been about to attack.

The girl had seemed certain, after all, that that was what the seven had meant. That there were only seven of them left. And if she was right, it was only a matter of time before they came after him. So the farther away he could get, the better.

But he wouldn't be able to run forever.

 _Just think._ They would be expecting him to run in a straight line. They'd seen which direction he had run, and he hadn't bothered taking any turns. He'd been so worried about the distance between them, he hadn't considered that it might be better if he took a less obvious path.

Reese slowed down as he turned to the right a little. He would have to be more careful now. If he turned too far, he could end up steering himself right off a cliff. But he didn't need to turn too much. Just enough to throw the others off his trail.

His trail. Was the snow still deep enough for him to leave a trail? If so, they would be able to follow it right to him. And if the fox was still with the younger contestants, they could probably track him well enough with or without a trail, if they were determined enough.

Maybe there was no point in running at all. Maybe he should be preparing to fight. But what was he supposed to fight _with_? Simon had taken Rory's pocketknife. He had nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing to fight with, at least. But there was something else he _did_ have. He knew what the girl with the fox had been trying to say. Apparently, the other girl had done something to her words – like she'd done to Vincent on their first day together. What the others had heard, he wasn't sure, but they didn't know there were only seven contestants left.

Or, at least, there _had_ been only seven contestants left. He had no way of knowing how many of the others might be left. Whether Simon or the three younger ones were still alive. Whether they'd managed to kill the girls at the lake. He had no way of knowing anything without going back.

And he certainly didn't want to go back.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

Maybe it was time to go back.

Cassidy fought back a yawn as she and Natasha stared out into the darkness. She'd thought about suggesting it a few times – just heading back to the lake. They hadn't found the group they were chasing, and, by now, it didn't seem like they were likely to. Maybe it would be better to simply head back to where they were safe.

Safe. But would they really be safe back at the lake? It had seemed safe, seemed like a good place to set up camp and go back to now and then. They had even buried some of the fish there, assuming that they would be coming back. But now … Ben and Natasha hadn't mentioned wanting to go back. They just wanted to find the group they were chasing. The contestants who had killed Isadore.

Who _might_ have killed Isadore. They had no way of knowing. They had no way of knowing _anything._ They only had Clara's word that she and Parker had found Isadore's body. And Natasha had been the one to suggest that his killer was probably in the group they were chasing. Was she trying to give them a reason not to go back to the lake?

Why? How would that help her? Having a source of water was a good thing for all of them. They were by the ocean now, yes, but fresh water was even better. Back at the lake, they could drink the water. They could catch fish. She could use the water to defend herself.

Oh.

What if that was the reason Natasha didn't want to go back to the lake? Having a source of water gave Cassidy a clear advantage, if it ever came down to a fight between the two of them. No, the _three_ of them. Ben was still part of their group, but he didn't seem to have much of an opinion on whether they should go back to the lake or not. His power was useful anywhere, after all. Maybe he didn't want to upset Natasha by suggesting that they give up their chase.

But their chase was going nowhere. They didn't even have a trail that they were following anymore. They'd lost the trail. They'd lost the other group. They had no reason to keep heading away from their camp.

Cassidy stared out into the darkness, towards the ocean. Maybe in the morning, she could suggest that they head back. If they made it til morning. What if someone found them during the night? Or what if…?

Cassidy glanced over at Natasha. She had offered to take the first watch. What was she planning? If she went to sleep with Natasha watching, would she ever wake up again? But she would have to go to sleep eventually. She couldn't simply stay awake forever.

What was she supposed to do?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

What was she supposed to do now?

Verona brushed the tears from her eyes, but more kept coming. She knew she had to stop crying. She had to get up. She had to _do_ something. But the tears wouldn't stop. Jayden was dead. Austin was dead. They were _all_ dead. And it was her fault.

It was _all_ her fault.

But it wasn't over. Not yet. Because there was still one contestant left. One more contestant who had to die if she wanted to live. If she wanted to go home.

Home. Home to her family. To her parents. She was so close now, it almost seemed possible. She might see them again. What would they say? What would they think? When she told them what had happened, what would they think of _her_? What would they do when they found out that she was a killer?

Verona closed her eyes. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The world already had plenty of killers in it. What was one more? Besides, once she told them _how_ it had happened, they would understand. They would realize that she hadn't had a choice.

And she hadn't. They would have killed her eventually, wouldn't they? The girls at the lake. The boy with the knife. Austin. Jayden. Eventually, they would have turned on her. They would have killed her.

Wouldn't they?

The others, maybe. The ones she hadn't known. But would Jayden really have killed her? Would Austin? Would either of them really have killed _anyone_? _Could_ they have killed anyone?

Yes. Yes, they could have. They would have. A few days ago, after all, she would have wondered the same thing about herself. But she had been able to kill – and she had done worse. She'd manipulated others into killing _for_ her. But what choice had she had?

What choice did any of them have?

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

What choice did she have?

Natasha stretched a little as she and Cassidy sat silently, staring out into the dark. She'd offered to take the first watch, but Cassidy had insisted on staying up, as well. And despite the fact that it had been at least a few hours, she still insisted she wasn't tired every time Natasha suggested that maybe one of them should get some sleep and let the other one watch.

Natasha clenched her fists tightly, trying to keep her fingers from drumming against her leg. She didn't want to look like she was nervous. Anxious. Like she was planning something. But the truth was, she _was_ planning something.

She was planning to leave.

That was the best choice, really. It was clear that Cassidy was becoming suspicious. Maybe she had realized that Clara hadn't actually attacked Natasha, that Natasha had baited them into starting the fight. Maybe she was just jumpy because Natasha had offered to take the first watch. Either way, it wouldn't be long before Cassidy's paranoia boiled over into something else.

And she definitely didn't want to be around when that happened. Cassidy had killed Juliska accidentally; Natasha had no intention of finding out what she was capable of when she _actually_ wanted to kill someone. And there was no need to. All she had to do was wait for Cassidy to fall asleep, and then she could leave. The others would probably let her go. They hadn't followed Isadore, after all, when he'd left. Still, she wanted a good head start before they realized she was gone. And she definitely didn't want to let them know which way she was going.

Because they were closer to the end than any of them wanted to admit. The number seven that the MAAB had sent – it had to mean something. The others hadn't seemed to want to talk about it. Maybe because they realized what "seven" could mean. Maybe they hoped that if they didn't say it out loud, it would mean something else. But the meaning couldn't have been clearer.

There were only seven of them left.

And three of them were here. Ben and Cassidy – they were two of the only contestants left on the island. It was only a matter of time before that number grew even smaller. And if it came down to the three of them…

That wasn't a fight she wanted. Not because she was overly attached to these two – not really. They made a pretty good team, but they'd all known from the start that their little arrangement couldn't last forever. That it was only a matter of time before the Games were every man for himself. Not, it was a fight she didn't want because she wasn't sure it was a fight she could _win._ Especially if Ben took Cassidy's side.

And he probably would. The pair of them had been close since the first day of training. Their powers worked well together, and, more than that, they seemed to actually _trust_ each other. As much as _anyone_ could trust each other in a fight to the death. She almost envied that.

Almost. As much as she wanted to trust them – both of them – she couldn't. She couldn't afford to. If she wanted to survive, then both of them had to die. Even if they didn't realize that yet, eventually they would.

But she didn't have to be the one to kill them.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

It was only a matter of time before they went after each other.

Ben kept his eyes closed, waiting. Waiting for what he knew was coming. What he had known was coming since both Natasha and Cassidy insisted on keeping watch together. Each of them was worried about what the other might do. Neither would want to sleep while the other kept watch. Eventually, one of them would ask why. Their suspicions would bubble to the surface. And there would be no stopping what would come next.

What would come next. This was exactly what Maria had warned them about. She had advised them to split up – peacefully – before it came to this point. But none of them could have anticipated that it would come to this point after only two days in the arena. He had thought – and so had the girls – that they would be able to stay together longer. That their alliance would hold for … what? A week? Longer? They had never guessed the Games would be moving this quickly.

"You sure you don't want to get some sleep?" Cassidy asked, her voice low. Maybe she was trying not to wake him. But he hadn't been able to sleep. How could he? Two of his allies – two of his _friends_ – were about to … what? Fight each other? Kill each other?

Maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise. Both had already killed – Cassidy accidentally, but Natasha quite deliberately. He was the only one in the group who hadn't – at least not directly. Maybe that was why they were focused on each other. Why neither of them thought that _he_ would be the one to turn on them.

Why neither of them thought that _he_ might try to turn them against each other.

Not overtly. He hadn't said anything to make either of them suspicious. But he had been slowly draining the heat from the air around them. Making it colder. Making the pair of them more uncomfortable – and probably more tired, as well. The more tired they were, the sooner one of them would insist that the other should get some sleep. The sooner that happened, the sooner—

"I'm fine," Natasha insisted. Again. But she couldn't hide the weariness in her voice. Both of them were tired. Both of them were frightened. It was only a matter of time before one of them snapped.

"It's not a problem. Really," Cassidy continued. "I'm going to be up anyway, so you might as well—"

"Why? Why would you want to stay up anyway?"

"Why would _you_?"

"I'm not tired." Natasha's voice was louder now. "You obviously are. So just get some sleep now, and—"

"And _what_?" Cassidy demanded. "And you can finish me off like I'm sleeping, just like you did to Parker?"

"Is that what you think? What about you? What's to stop you from draining the water from my body like you did to Juliska?"

"Nothing." Cassidy's voice was lower now. Almost calm. "But if I wanted to – if I _really_ wanted to kill you – do you think I'd have to wait until you were asleep? There's nothing to stop me from killing you right here – right _now_ – if I had the mind to."

"Then why haven't you done it?"

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

"Then why haven't you done it?"

Cassidy could feel the churning in her stomach at Natasha's words. Could she really not understand why Cassidy didn't want to kill her? From what she'd said, if Natasha thought she would be able to kill Cassidy, _she_ wouldn't hesitate to do it. So why was she waiting? Why was she hesitating? She'd already killed one ally – although that had been an accident. Natasha was all but _asking_ her to attack.

Why? Why would she want her to attack? If she wanted to fight, why didn't _she_ do something? Did she want an excuse to fight back? Did she want to be able to claim that Cassidy had started the fight? Or maybe … maybe she was just as afraid, despite her words, about what that would mean. Maybe she didn't _want_ to fight. Maybe she was just as scared, just as tired, just as anxious as Cassidy was. Maybe they didn't need to fight.

Maybe they could simply walk away.

"Because I'm giving you a chance to leave," Cassidy answered, trying to keep her voice steady as she took a step back. "Maria told us during training not to … not to turn on each other. To part ways peacefully, if it came to that. It looks like it's come to that, so … so just go. Take some of the food, take some water, and just … just go."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Just leave. We won't follow you."

"The hell you won't."

"Once you're out of sight, we won't be able to. No footprints, remember? Just go now – peacefully – and I'll tell Ben—"

"What? That I was afraid and ran away?"

"If that's what you want me to say."

"It's not. I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be."

"Why don't _you_ go? Why don't we _both_ leave?"

"Because I—" Why _didn't_ she want to go? Maybe because staying with Ben was a good strategy. He could keep them warm, after all. But if Natasha left, it was only a matter of time before she and Ben had to split up, as well. Only a matter of time before he realized what the seven on the paper meant. What it _had_ to mean.

"Okay," Cassidy agreed, taking another step back – back towards the edge of the cliff. Closer to the water, in case Natasha decided to try something. "Okay. We both leave. I'll go this way, you go that way – or the reverse, if you'd like. We don't need to fight."

"Right." Natasha's voice was tense as she took a step away from Cassidy. "We don't need to. We can just … just leave."

"Exactly."

"We can both walk away."

"That's right. There's no reason to fight."

"No reason."

"None. This doesn't have to happen."

But they both knew it did.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

They both knew what had to happen.

Natasha took a deep breath as Cassidy took another step closer to the cliff. Closer to the water. Enough water to ensure that she would be able to defend herself if Natasha attacked. Enough water to strike the first blow, if she wanted to. But did she want to, or did she really believe what she was saying? Did Cassidy really believe that they could both walk away from this?

Maybe. Certainly she _wanted_ to believe it. But that didn't make it true. Cassidy was offering her exactly what she'd wanted – the chance to just walk away – but there was nothing to stop her from summoning enough water to douse her once she turned her back, nothing to stop her from hitting her with enough freezing water to give her hypothermia – maybe enough to kill her instantly. As much as she wanted to simply walk way, she couldn't.

And they both knew it.

Natasha took a deep breath. Then another step back. Then another. Cassidy still didn't move. One more step. Then another. All she had to do was keep walking. Maybe Cassidy really _would_ let her just walk away. Maybe.

But how far would she get? How far could she go before she had to rest? Before she had to get some sleep? Even if she didn't leave footprints, it wouldn't be hard for Cassidy and Ben to find her. There were two of them. One of her. If she left them _any_ idea of where to look, she would never be able to sleep. She would never be able to turn her back.

She had to take care of this _now_.

Slowly, still stepping backwards, she began levitating. A fraction of an inch. Then a little more. Not enough for Cassidy to notice. Not in the dark. Not from this distance. Slowly, so slowly, Cassidy faded into the distance. Natasha glanced off to her left – at the tendril of ocean water that was slowly rising. The water that Cassidy was probably hoping she hadn't noticed. _Wait for it._ She had to wait until she was out of sight. She had to wait until Cassidy couldn't see…

Suddenly, the water came streaming towards her. Natasha screamed – a scream that certainly sounded real as the water swept beneath her feet. Right where she had been standing. As it was, the wave grazed her feet. Natasha clenched her fists tightly as she floated a little higher. Then a little more. Silently. It was only a matter of time before Cassidy came to see…

Sure enough, she came running. Probably hoping that the blow had killed Natasha instantly, that she wouldn't have to do anything to finish her off. Silently, Natasha slipped her hand into her pocket, removing the pocketknife she'd taken from Parker. She would only get one chance at this.

She couldn't afford to get this wrong.

* * *

 **Cassidy Cruze, 16**

She couldn't afford to get this wrong.

Cassidy clenched her fists as she raced towards Natasha's scream – a scream that had immediately been silenced. Which could mean she was dead. Or…

Or unconscious. Or simply stunned. She couldn't be too careful. Cassidy glanced around in the dark as the water grew damp beneath her feet. Natasha had to be nearby. She had to—

Suddenly, something came crashing down on her. Something warm and heavy. Natasha. _Shit_. She'd been flying. Had the water even hit her? She'd assumed, from the scream, that she'd at least managed to injure her, but Natasha wasn't even wet. But she would fix that soon. Cassidy reached out, summoning as much water as she could as the pair of them crashed to the ground, Natasha's arm wrapping around her throat. As soon as the water hit them—

But even as it did, something sharp dug into the side of her neck. Deeper. Deeper. The knife. Natasha had a pocketknife. A pocketknife that was now buried in her neck.

 _Shit._ Cassidy clung as tightly as she could to Natasha's arm. Blood dripped down her neck, mixing with the freezing water that swirled around the pair. So much blood. Maybe Natasha had hit an artery. But the water already surrounded the two of them. Maybe she couldn't beat Natasha, but she could take her down with her…

Cassidy closed her eyes as the tendril of water dragged the pair of them towards the edge of the cliff. Natasha was wriggling, struggling to get free so that she could fly away, but the water held her tightly. She just had to hold on a little longer.

Just a little longer.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Just a little longer.

Natasha gasped for breath as the pair of them plunged over the edge of the cliff and into the water. Cassidy's body went limp in her arms as the pair of them struck the water, but Natasha knew she was only moments from joining her. Immediately, she let go of Cassidy's body, flailing this way and that. She could swim well enough, but the water was so cold. Freezing cold. It was getting hard to focus.

Breathe. Just breathe. She took a deep breath as her arms flailed, barely keeping her above the surface. It was getting harder to move. She closed her eyes. Okay. She just had to levitate. Just a little. Just enough to get out of the water. Then…

Then what? She had to get back up the cliff, or she would freeze to death down here. Even if she managed to get up to dry ground, what was she supposed to do then? She was freezing wet.

One thing at a time.

Slowly, she rose out of the water. A little. Then a little more. The water was starting to grow colder. Colder. Okay. Just think. Just focus. Higher. Higher. She had to get up the cliff. She had to.

Then she could figure out what to do next.

Finally, her fingers reached dry ground. Everything was growing fuzzy, but she was safe. She was still wet, but she was on solid ground. She wasn't going to fall back into the water. She stopped floating, and immediately fell to the ground an inch or two below her, gasping for breath. _Breathe._

Just breathe.

Then she saw his feet – coming towards her in the dark. Ben. Maybe her shout had woken him up. Maybe he'd been awake the whole time. Either way, he was her only chance now. "Ben," she gasped. "Please. You have to help me. Cassidy, she – she attacked me. I was only trying to defend myself, but … she's dead. You have to help me. Please."

But he didn't say anything.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

He didn't say anything.

Ben shook his head as he watched Natasha, struggling just to sit up at his feet, begging for … for what? For his help? For her life? All he had to do was let her die, and another one of his most powerful opponents would be gone. That was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? For the two of them to kill each other? That would give him a better chance, wouldn't it?

Would it?

If he'd been right about what the seven meant – if there were only seven of them left – then there were six now. There were still four other contestants on the island – contestants who had probably been killing the others. Contestants who were just as strong as he was, if not stronger. Contestants who might be completely uninjured, who might be in peak condition.

He wasn't.

He needed help.

But could he trust Natasha? She and Cassidy had been willing to turn on each other. What made him think she wouldn't do the same to him? If he saved her life now, what was to stop her from killing him as soon as it was convenient?

But she _hadn't_ attacked Cassidy. She had been walking away. He had seen that. He had seen Cassidy summon the water to strike Natasha. And he hadn't done anything to stop her. They could simply have let Natasha go. But Cassidy had attacked, instead. Maybe Natasha would have done the same thing. Maybe not.

Maybe it didn't matter.

If he let Natasha die now, he would be alone. He would have to fend for himself. And it was still dark. He was still tired. If he fell asleep now, without someone keeping watch, _anyone_ could kill him. He _needed_ help.

He needed _her._

And she needed him. Silently, Ben knelt beside Natasha, warming her up just as he had done during the first day of training, when Cassidy had accidentally struck her with a blast of water. She had needed him then. Surely she would realize, even now, that they had a better chance together. That the two of them would have a better chance against anyone who might attack them than either of them would have on their own.

Because the Games were far from over. Even if there had only been seven of them left – even if there were only six of them now – there was no telling how much longer the Games might last. How much longer they would have to rely on each other.

Natasha sat up a little as she grew warmer. "Thank you," she managed, her voice little more than a whisper. "I think … I think I'll get some sleep now."

Ben smiled a little as she lay down to rest. She certainly wasn't going to hurt him now. And later … well, he could worry about that later. For now, she was sleeping, and she owed him one. Maybe that would keep her from turning on him for a while.

For a while. But not forever. He would have to be ready. They would _both_ have to be ready. Because it was only a matter of time before things turned sour again.

They would have to be ready to fight.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

They would have to be ready to fight.

Piper clenched her fists as she glanced into the future again, immediately turning on the headlamp that Akil and Victoria had agreed should be given to whoever was keeping watch. _Keeping watch._ As strange as it sounded, she could do that about as well as the others in the dark. Maybe better. Her power meant that she could take a glimpse into the future, turn on the headlamp, have a look around, and turn it off again without anyone noticing. Without anyone seeing the light. So far, she hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary, but still…

It was only a matter of time before something turned up. In the meanwhile, she could use the time to stretch her limits. It was always easier to hold her visions of the future when there were no distractions. And with both Akil and Victoria sleeping, there were certainly fewer of those. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do with her time…

Besides sleep, of course. The others had offered to keep watch first, but she'd insisted on taking the first shift. Maybe it was past time for her to wake the others, but something was keeping her awake. Maybe she didn't want to relinquish the feeling of … well, of _usefulness_. As long as the only thing she had to do was keep peeking into the future, at least she felt like she was _doing_ something.

And if she went to sleep … what would happen when she woke up? It would be daylight, and anyone else could see better than she could again. Because they just had to look around, while she had to use her power in order to be able to see _anything_. And she could only do that for a minute or two before—

The vision snapped, and Piper shook her head as everything went dark again. So dark. But she took a deep breath, making sure to wait a while before trying again. The longer she waited between attempts, the longer she could hold the vision. She had no way of timing herself – except counting, and that had quickly become tedious – but she didn't need a watch to tell that she couldn't keep her power going as long if she was tired. When she had been fighting the boy with the storm, she had been glancing into the future pretty much continuously, and, at the end, she'd only been able to see a few seconds.

And that had cost her. She couldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't afford to. She was already at a disadvantage. She couldn't do anything that would widen that gap – the gap between her and the contestants who could still use their powers and physical abilities to their full extent.

But that category didn't include either of her allies. Victoria's powers were pretty much moot now that she couldn't speak. And while Akil could still use his power to affect people's minds, his missing hand would certainly hamper him if it came down to a physical fight. He would have to rely on her and Victoria, just as she would have to rely on them.

Piper took a deep breath, then silently shook Akil awake. He'd agreed to take the next shift, and she had stalled long enough. "Nothing to report," she whispered, handing over the headlamp.

Akil laid a hand on her shoulder. "Good. Get some sleep." Immediately, a warm fire appeared – a fire she could actually see, the shadows dancing as the flames licked towards the sky. Piper smiled a little. She knew Akil was projecting the vision into her mind, but it didn't matter. At least she could see _something_. Maybe it didn't matter if it was something he had created.

It was certainly better than the truth.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

They couldn't really ask for things to be going much better than this.

Terry rolled over a little as Taylor shook him awake. "Anything happen?" he mumbled, glancing up at the starry sky. It had been cloudy the last time they'd traded shifts, but now those clouds were starting to clear. Other than that, things didn't seem to be much different.

"Nope," Taylor reported with a yawn. "Trust me, if something was happening, I wouldn't have taken the time to wake you nicely."

"Good point," Terry agreed. "It's just … strange."

"What?"

"Not seeing anyone for so long."

Taylor shrugged. "It's only been a day."

She was right, of course. It just _seemed_ longer. It seemed like ages since they'd found the lake. Since he'd killed the other boy. It seemed much longer than two days since they'd parachuted down onto the island, grateful to simply be alive after the jump. It seemed longer.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Terry shook his head as Taylor lay down to sleep. If the two of them weren't careful, they _could_ spend the rest of their lives in the arena. And even if they _were_ careful, one of them would die here, if the MAAB had their way. Which they almost certainly would. It was only a matter of time before something happened.

So maybe he should be grateful that nothing had. That the other contestants seemed content to leave them alone. That they'd been able to stay peacefully at the lake, their only concern being a boy who had probably been dead when they'd arrived. They couldn't really ask for things to go much better than this.

But how long could he expect this to last?

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

She'd known from the start that their alliance wouldn't last forever.

Maria rolled over in her bed, the screen still flashing behind her. She hadn't been able to figure out how to turn it off. Maybe that was deliberate – the MAAB's way of reminding them that the Games were still going, even if they slept.

Even when they slept. She was getting too tired to stay up any longer. Maybe it was better to get some sleep now – now that nothing seemed to be happening. Natasha and Ben were safe for the moment. Akil, Piper, and Victoria were trading shifts without incident, as were Terry and Taylor. Cameron had settled down for the night, and Verona didn't seem to be going anywhere. Even Reese had finally decided to rest, although he hadn't managed to fall asleep. Only Penelope was still on the move, heading steadily towards the mountain in the distance. But it would still be a while before she reached it.

And Cassidy was dead. Maria swallowed hard, fighting back tears. She'd tried to be impartial towards her contestants, but the truth was she'd had a soft spot for Cassidy and Isadore. They had been two of the first contestants that they'd decided she should coach, because of the similarities between their powers. Cassidy and Isadore's powers had been more impressive than hers, perhaps, but still, there had been similarities.

But now they were both dead. Isadore had followed her advice to try to part ways from the group peacefully, and he had died. Cassidy had refused to let Natasha leave peacefully, and she had died. It didn't seem fair. No matter what they did, whether they'd followed her advice or not … they were still dead.

But there were only eleven contestants who weren't. And only two of them – Penelope and Ben – were hers. Not that it mattered. Not that it should matter. But it didn't quite seem fair that only two of her contestants were left, along with four of Vincent's and five of Ian's.

Maria closed her eyes. It seemed selfish to even think about the Games in those terms, especially now that Vincent and Ian were … where? Where had the MAAB taken them? What were they doing? If they had killed them, wouldn't they have told her by now? Maybe if she fell asleep and could talk to Diana…

But would that make things better or worse? She might get more information, but if the MAAB suspected she was contacting Diana, that could put Vincent and Ian in even more danger. If they were still alive. If the MAAB hadn't already killed them.

Stop it. Maria squeezed her eyes shut tightly. The others were alive. They had to be. The MAAB needed them – and they needed them alive.

Didn't they?

* * *

" _As frightening as it can be, that pain will make you stronger."_


	31. Powerful

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the poll are up on the blog. New poll up on my profile, this time asking who you _want_ to see as the Victor. As usual, **read the chapter first** , because anyone who dies here won't be included in the poll.

* * *

 **Powerful**

* * *

 **Dr. Hans Brenner, 74  
March 22nd, 07:57 AKST**

Maybe they'd made a mistake.

Hans drummed his fingers on the table as the other members of the MAAB began to gather. Some were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, but others had clearly been up all night. Judah was yawning and stretching as if he'd just woken from a pleasant sleep, and even Nicholas was trying to hide a yawn as he took a seat at the head of the table.

"I know most of you were up late," Nicholas apologized. "But with any luck, we won't have many more of these late nights ahead of us. With only eleven contestants left, we can't expect the Games to last much longer—"

"Seven hours," Alvin cut him off.

Nicholas shook his head. "What?"

"Seven hours, give or take," Alvin repeated. "You were wondering how much longer the Games will last. I'd say about seven hours."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"

"I don't _know_. It's just a prediction – based on how much longer it'll take Penelope to reach that mountain."

Lillian shook her head. "Then I think your numbers are a bit off. She should be there within two hours."

Alvin shrugged. "Another hour or two for her to figure out the best way to harness the volcano's energy and put it to use. But unless she decides the best use of that energy is to simply blow the island to smithereens, we've still got some time left after that. A matter of hours."

Nicholas leaned forward a little in his chair. "Do you think she could actually cause the island to explode?"

"Only one way to find out," Alvin admitted.

"We may not have to find out," Hans offered. "If we turn off her collar…"

"Absolutely not!" Judah snapped.

Hans couldn't help a look of surprise. "This is the reason we insisted on the collars in the first place, isn't it? In case it turned out one of them was more powerful than expected."

"But she's not," Judah pointed out. "She's _exactly_ as powerful as we expected. That's why she's here. If we take her powers out of the game now, your experiment is ruined."

Lillian chuckled a little. "Since when do you care about the experiment?"

Judah shook his head. "I don't. I just don't like hypocrites. You've been saying from the beginning that we shouldn't interfere with the Game."

"We've already interfered," Mack pointed out. "We sent the papers, and that's the only reason Penelope's heading for that mountain in the first place."

"Maybe we shouldn't have," Hans suggested. "Maybe we should've just let things play out naturally."

"Naturally?" Francine scoffed. "You really think any of this is natural."

Lillian shook her head. "Francine, this really isn't time for emotion."

Alvin chuckled. "It's not about emotion. She's right. None of this is natural – and not because it's wrong, or because it's inhuman. But because we _created_ it. You can talk all you want about not interfering, but this whole game is one big interference."

Judah glared. " _You're_ the one who didn't want to send the papers—"

"But not because it interfered," Alvin pointed out. "Only because it gives us one fewer option for future Games. And if there _are_ going to be future Games – future Games that we expect to _work_ – then we need to make sure that someone comes out of this one alive."

"Actually—" Mack started.

"I know," Alvin nodded. "But right now we need to focus on making sure that _our_ goal is met."

"I think we should wait and see what she'll do before jumping to conclusions," Judah suggested. "I doubt she'd want to simply blow up the island. Surely she'd realize the danger to herself."

Francine shook her head. "And if she doesn't care?"

Judah turned. "What?"

"What if she doesn't care whether or not she dies? What if she's simply happy to take everyone out with her?"

"Why would she?"

"I can think of several good reasons," Mack offered. "What if she's figured out that future Games will only work if we have a survivor here? We could be putting this whole operation in jeopardy if we let her destroy everything."

"She won't," Judah insisted.

Alvin nodded a little. "I agree."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

"With you."

"Now you _don't_ think we should interfere."

"It's not about interfering. It's about the likeliest course of action. Mack's right that she could ruin this year's Games, but she won't."

"Why?" Nicholas asked.

"Two reasons. One, she's smart enough to realize that the Games themselves aren't in jeopardy. If she destroys the island, all we have to do is say that our experiment went horribly wrong, and that someone was _supposed_ to survive, but didn't. It might shake the confidence of the next batch of contestants, but that's _all_ it will do. They would still fight. Someone would still survive. Even the _chance_ of survival would be enough to motivate them."

"And the second reason?"

Alvin leaned forward a little. "Mack, you're thinking like a politician. Judah, you're thinking like an officer. I'm thinking like a mathematician. We can't help it. We are what we are. And, whether anyone wants to admit it, whatever training she's had, whatever her experience has been … she's still a kid. And she wants to live. It's as simple as that."

Hans nodded. "Maybe it is. But can we take that chance?"

"Yes, I think so," Nicholas decided. "For now, at least. But we may have to be ready to act later, in case things go wrong."

Hans frowned. It wasn't like Nicholas to put off an important decision. As the other trickled out of the room, he shook his head. "Keeping your options open, Nick?"

"What else am I supposed to do? We're in uncharted territory here. There's no precedent. If things go wrong—"

"Then they go wrong," Hans finished. "Experiments fail sometimes. It happens."

"But if this one fails…"

"Then it fails. But I don't think it will. It would take quite a bit for it to fail completely. As long as we have a survivor…"

Nicholas nodded. "But will we?"

Hans shrugged. "That might be up to us."

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

It was all up to him.

Ben rubbed his eyes, trying to stay awake as Natasha slept. She'd been sleeping ever since her fight with Cassidy, but he didn't want to wake her. He'd warmed her up as well as he could, but she was still exhausted. In her condition, he wasn't sure he _wanted_ her keeping watch – for either of their sakes.

But he couldn't keep watch forever. The first rays of light were starting to appear on the horizon. It was only a matter of time before they would be able to see their surroundings. And if _they_ could see, then so could everyone else.

Everyone else. However many of them were left. With Cassidy gone…

Gone. It sounded simpler, when he put it like that. Cassidy was gone. Isadore and Juliska were gone. He and Natasha were left. But soon, it would have to be him. Just him.

It could have just been him hours ago, of course. He could simply have let Natasha die. Maybe he _should_ have. Even now, it would be easy to kill her. All he had to do was drain enough heat from the air around her. She would never feel a thing.

Or he could simply leave. Maybe that would be easier. Easier than killing her himself. Maybe someone else would find her and take care of the job for him. But that would simply prove that he didn't have the stomach to do it himself.

Maybe he didn't. A few days ago, he would have thought he was ready for anything. Now he'd seen people die. He'd seen people killed. But _he_ hadn't killed. There were no blood on his hands.

Not really.

Not unless he counted sitting by while Cassidy and Natasha fought. Or freezing the water that Cassidy had splashed Parker with. Or allowing Isadore to run off instead of trying to convince him to stay. Or not noticing what Cassidy was doing to Juliska until it was too late.

 _Stop it._ That wasn't the same thing. He hadn't meant for Juliska and Isadore to die. Their group had been defending themselves from Parker and Clara. And Cassidy…

Cassidy had been a threat. Maybe she'd been a threat from the start. In such frigid temperatures where even a splash of water could be deadly, he would've had to deal with her eventually.

Now he would just have to deal with Natasha.

Ben stretched a little, immediately regretting the movement. He couldn't afford to underestimate Natasha, either. She'd managed to kill Cassidy, and that was no small feat. She was only alive because of him, but he couldn't count on her to return the favor. In the end, he couldn't count on her to do _anything._ Just as she couldn't count on him.

And now he knew that she understood that.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

She still didn't quite understand it.

Victoria rubbed the sleep from her eyes as Akil shook her awake. _Okay, okay._ She opened her mouth to say the words, but, sure enough, nothing came out. A part of her had been hoping that she'd wake up to find it was all a dream. That she could speak again. That her power was _useful_ again.

But as strange as it was, she almost felt … _comfortable._ More comfortable than she'd felt around others even when she could use her power. She'd always been certain of exactly what other people would do – because she could _make_ them do it. But she wasn't forcing Akil and Piper to stay with her. She wasn't forcing them to stay awake, to keep watch for danger. They _wanted_ to. They _wanted_ to protect her.

It didn't make any sense.

They barely knew anything about each other. She had nothing to offer them. But here they were, all the same, helping each other. Protecting each other.

Protecting. If it came down to that, how much protection could she really offer them? How much protection could they offer _her_? If – no, _when_ – someone else found them, how much of a chance did the three of them really stand?

More than she would stand alone. That was the only certainty. Whatever her odds were now, they would be much smaller if she took off on her own. Even if her only protection was a one-handed boy and a blind girl. They were better than nothing.

Maybe they were thinking the same thing about her.

Victoria couldn't help a smile as Akil rolled over to get some sleep. Whatever they might think of her, they trusted her to keep watch. They _trusted_ her, without her forcing them to. It almost felt … _good_. But what would happen if she couldn't protect them? If she couldn't hold up her end of the bargain?

 _What bargain?_

They all knew what had to happen eventually. As comfortable – cozy, even – as their small alliance had become, even this couldn't last forever. She could only hope that someone else would take care of the others before she had to.

Take care of them. _Kill_ them. That was what she meant. But it was harder to even think the word now than it had be to contemplate killing John. John had never trusted her – not really. She'd been manipulating him from the start. If she hadn't been feeding him ideas, he would have taken off on his own long before her idea to follow the storm had gotten him killed.

But she had been controlling him. As she'd been controlling everything else in her life. But now that _none_ of it was in her control, the feeling was almost … freeing. She didn't have to guarantee the others' obedience. She could simply _trust_ them to do what was best for them.

For _all_ of them.

Suddenly, Piper sat straight up, gasping for breath, glancing around frantically before realizing that it wasn't going to do any good. She still couldn't see. Victoria laid a hand on her shoulder, and Piper gripped it tightly as Victoria shook Akil awake. "It can't have been an hour already," Akil mumbled, before seeing that Piper was awake. "What is it?"

Piper squeezed Victoria's hand tightly. "We have to go."

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"We have to go."

Piper clutched Victoria's hand tightly, hoping she would understand the urgency. They _had_ to get moving – and quickly. But she couldn't tell them why. She had to pretend not to know. Diana had agreed not to interfere – or, at least, that was what she'd said. By warning her about what was coming, Diana was risking…

What? What was she risking? She was already dead. Maybe she was risking her family's safety. Maybe the MAAB had promised her something. Either way, she had warned Piper not to tell the others what was coming – at least, not when the MAAB would be able to hear them.

 _Think._

But she didn't have time to think. So she simply offered the first explanation that came to her mind. "There's someone coming – in about two minutes. From that direction." She pointed in the direction of the mountain. Or, at least, what she was pretty sure was the direction of the mountain. "We have to go _now._ "

To her surprise, Akil immediately helped her to her feet. "All right, then. Let's get out of here." One of them handed her a backpack, which she slung over her shoulders, and Victoria took her hand, leading her away from their little camp.

Quickly, Piper ventured a glance into the future. Just a little one. Just a few seconds. Just enough to make sure they were going the right way. Sure enough, the mountain was to their left, and they were headed away from it as quickly as they could move.

But would it be quickly enough?

 _Calm down._ If what Diana said was true, they still had time. That, of course, depended on _Diana's_ information being true. And she hadn't revealed who had told her…

Who had told her that someone was headed for the mountain – the _volcano_ – in order to destroy the island. Whoever it was had to be someone on the outside. Someone who knew what was going on. One of the coaches, maybe? But if that was the case, why not tell her? If she knew for sure that the instructions had come from Ian…

But she didn't know anything for sure. For all she knew, Diana might not even be telling the truth. But wasn't it better to be safe than sorry? That was what her parents had always said. That was what she'd always used her powers for before – playing it safe.

Until now.

Piper clutched Victoria's hand tightly as the three of them made their way across the rocks. She and Akil hadn't played it safe when they'd decided to investigate the storm, and they'd paid the price. They couldn't afford to make the same mistake again. Not when they had this sort of warning in advance. Diana was clearly trying to help them; it would be a mistake to refuse that help now.

They couldn't afford to refuse any sort of help.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He couldn't put this off any longer.

Cameron slowly rolled over on the hard ground, trying to find a more comfortable position. But the rocks weren't really what was keeping him awake. Neither was the cold. If anything, the cold should have made it easier to simply lie there and do nothing. Instead, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, staring off into the distance. Trying to make out anything he could in the dim morning light.

He couldn't see much. Certainly not any people. But he could see well enough now to know that he wasn't going to blunder off the edge of a cliff, and that was good enough. He had some idea of which direction the lake was, so he started walking.

Slowly. Very slowly. Just because he couldn't see anyone ahead didn't mean that they couldn't see _him_. He was moving, after all, which might be enough to catch their attention. If they were awake. The only reason _he_ was awake was because he had to know. After a day of wondering whether he'd made the right choice when he'd left Tariq, he _had_ to know.

Even if he didn't want to.

Cameron clenched his fists. He could handle this. He'd been telling himself for hours, after all, that Tariq was probably dead. That he probably wouldn't find anything but a body. But there was still a part of him – however small – that hoped his friend was still alive, maybe even awake, and waiting for him back at the lake. Maybe the others had left. Maybe he'd even woken up and convinced them not to kill him.

Maybe.

He'd been able to convince Cameron, after all, before the Games had even begun, that it would be better to avoid killing the other contestants. And, so far, Cameron had managed to do just that. Yes, he'd left Tariq, but he'd given him the best chance he could. And, aside from the pair of contestants who'd been approaching the lake, he hadn't even _seen_ anyone besides Tariq since the start of the Game.

But was that good or bad? Did that simply mean there wasn't anyone else near him, or was the reason he hadn't seen anyone else because they were too busy killing each other off? Was it only a matter of time before someone found him? If so, maybe it was better that he was moving now. A moving target would make him harder to find.

Wouldn't it?

Maybe. There was still a thin layer of snow on the ground, but in order to follow his trail, someone would have to _find_ his trail. And that certainly wouldn't be easy. Even if they did, he had a good head start. All he had to do was keep moving.

Keep moving. It sounded so simple. But his legs were already growing tired. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't _want_ to keep moving. There was a part of him that didn't _want_ to know what was up ahead. Whatever the reason, he slowed down as the lake finally came into view. This was it.

Then he saw the body. And a body was clearly what it was. Tariq's clothes were stained red with blood, visible even from a distance. The contestants at the lake had moved the body a good distance away – maybe because they simply couldn't stand to look at it. Cameron could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he crept a little closer. Closer.

He'd told himself to expect this. But that didn't make it any easier. If not for the blood, Tariq might have been sleeping. His face was as peaceful as ever. Maybe he hadn't felt it when…

When they'd stabbed him. The wound in his chest left no doubt about how he'd died. Cameron knelt down silently beside Tariq's body. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

But what else could he have done?

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

What else could he have done?

Taylor watched silently from a distance as the boy knelt beside his friend's body. She'd been hoping – as had Terry – that the older boy had already been dead when Terry had stabbed him. But that clearly wasn't the case. There would be no reason for the younger boy to return if he knew his friend was already dead. He'd clearly come back to see what had become of his friend.

Taylor glanced over at Terry, still sleeping soundly on the ground. What else could he have done? He'd only been following the rules that the MAAB had set. He'd been playing the Game. Who would have expected anything else?

All the same, she couldn't wake him. If he woke up now, he would figure out what she had – that the boy had been alive. That Terry had killed him. Maybe he already suspected as much, but once he knew that for certain, everything would change. She wasn't ready for that.

Maybe she could go after the boy on her own. He had run away, after all, when they'd approached the lake before. Which meant he probably wasn't prepared for a fight. He might not even have any useful abilities. She would probably be able to handle him.

Probably.

But 'probably' wasn't good enough. If she needed Terry's help, she didn't want to have to explain why she'd decided to handle the boy on her own. Either he would figure out the real reason she hadn't woken him, or he would suspect that she'd wanted to take the credit for the kill herself, or maybe prove that she didn't need his help. None of those scenarios would end well.

No, the best thing to do would be to let the boy go. Taylor sat perfectly still, watching out of the corner of her eye as the boy slowly crept away. He probably thought he was being silent. Probably thought he was moving slowly enough not to attract attention. But she was letting him go. She was letting him _live._

And it felt _good._

Taylor clenched her fists tightly. She could afford to let him go this time. As long as he didn't come near them. As long as he wasn't going to attack him. As long as he wasn't a threat, she could justify not seeking out a fight.

And he wasn't a threat. As soon as he figured he was out of sight, he took off running. Taylor nodded a little. Good. The farther away he got before Terry woke up, the better. Later, she could pretend to notice his trail in the snow, and pretend to assume someone had snuck by them in the dark. Later, she could pretend to simply be grateful that whoever had come near them hadn't attacked them. Later.

She could deal with that later.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

There would be time to ask questions later.

Akil glanced over at Piper and Victoria as the three of them made their way forward in the early morning light. What were they running from? If Piper had been able to see someone about two minutes away coming towards them, surely they could have caught up by now. They were moving as fast as they could, but that wasn't particularly fast. If someone was intent on catching them, they could probably have done it by now.

So that wasn't the answer. Which meant Piper was lying. Akil's stomach churned a little at the thought. Why would she lie? He was used to people lying, but he had thought that maybe – just maybe – he could trust these two.

There was another obvious explanation, of course, for Piper's sudden insistence that they leave. She had been asleep, after all. Maybe Diana had told her something. But then why not say so? He'd been perfectly honest before, when Diana had told him that the boy who had shot down her parachute was sleeping nearby. Maybe if he hadn't, it would make sense that she was trying to hide the fact that Diana was helping them. But the MAAB already knew that they could still talk to her.

So what was she hiding?

Akil gave Victoria's hand a squeeze as the three of them hurried forwards. She turned and gave a little shrug. Maybe she suspected that Piper was lying, as well. But even if Piper wasn't telling the truth about _why_ they were running, she had no reason to want to lead them into any sort of danger. As much as they were relying on her foresight, she needed _them_ even more. So if she _was_ lying, she was probably just trying to protect them from something.

Probably.

But how long would it be before 'probably' wasn't good enough? How long before she would have to tell them what was going on? Suddenly, there was a churning in his stomach, and Piper stopped short. "Left," she whispered. "We need to turn left."

"Why?" Akil whispered back.

Piper clenched her teeth. "Because there's someone to the right. Two someones, actually. One of them's asleep, but the other one's keeping watch. We don't want to go that way. Just trust me."

 _Just trust me._ Akil nodded before remembering that she wouldn't be able to see that. "Okay," he whispered. "Left it is."

For now, he would just have to trust her.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

For now, she would just have to trust him.

Natasha stretched a little as she sat up, her gaze straying to where Ben sat nearby, keeping watch. He'd let her sleep for quite a while; that much was obvious from the rising sun in the distance. "Did I miss anything?"

Ben shook his head. "All quiet. Since Cassidy…" He trailed off, maybe a little more uncomfortable with the subject than he wanted to admit. Cassidy was _dead_. Natasha had killed her.

But she hadn't had a choice. Not really. Cassidy had been trying to kill her. _Would_ have killed her, if Natasha hadn't had the presence of mind to escape her attack by flying. It was sheer dumb luck that Cassidy hadn't anticipated her move and manipulated the wave to strike a little higher. She was lucky to be alive.

And she wouldn't be alive at _all_ if it weren't for Ben. He had saved her. Why, she wasn't exactly sure – and she certainly wasn't about to ask. She was alive. For now, that was all that mattered.

For now. Eventually, she would have to deal with Ben. But not yet. He had saved her life, but she wasn't stupid enough to think that meant that she owed him. When it came down to it – _if_ it came down to her life or his – she would still choose hers. He would still choose his. Nothing was going to change that.

But, for now, they were still here. Together. They could still help each other. For now, she still needed his warmth. And he needed…

What? Company? Maybe. The thought of being alone on the island, without anyone else to keep watch, wasn't exactly a comforting one. She was grateful to have him, and he was probably just as glad to have her. For now, at least.

For now.

Natasha opened her backpack and removed one of the frozen fish. The fish that Cassidy had helped them catch. "Breakfast?" she offered, holding it out to Ben.

Ben managed a smile and took the fish, quickly warming it up before handing it back to her. Then he took one for himself. "I guess these ones will have to last us a while," Natasha pointed out, nodding towards their bags.

Ben cringed a little, maybe realizing what she had – that they had Cassidy to thank for the fish. "We buried some more back at the lake," Ben pointed out. "We could always go back and fetch those if the Game lasts long enough."

 _If the Game lasts long enough._ They had enough fish to last them maybe another day or two, if they rationed their food well enough. Did Ben think the Games would be over by then? Maybe they would. It was only the start of the third day, and if the MAAB's note meant what she had assumed it meant, there weren't very many of them left.

Still, heading back to fetch the rest of the food would give them a goal – and maybe help keep their minds off what would have to eventually happen. Keep them from thinking about the fact that their dwindling alliance couldn't last forever. And where was the harm? "Maybe we should go back and get them anyway," she suggested.

Ben thought for a moment, then nodded. "Why not." With Cassidy gone, there was no need to stay near the water. Ben could melt enough snow to keep them from getting too thirsty. And they had clearly lost the other group they had been following.

At least this would keep them busy.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

At least now he had something to keep him busy.

Reese stretched his arms as he started walking again – away from the other contestants who might be right on his tail. He'd barely been able to sleep all night, and now that it was light, he might as well get moving. It probably wouldn't be long now. Not long before the end of the Game.

Because whoever had survived the fight at the lake would surely be coming after him next. There was no one else left. No one else on the island that he needed to worry about.

Except the boy who was running towards him.

 _What?_

Reese rubbed his eyes, thinking that maybe the dim morning light was playing tricks on him. But the boy was still there, running towards him as if someone was chasing him. But that couldn't be. Simon had said he'd heard two voices at the lake. There had been five of them – him and Simon, and the three younger contestants.

So how could this boy be alive?

Reese glanced around quickly. There was nowhere for him to hide. If the boy was chasing him, he was in trouble. He had nothing to defend himself with. The boy didn't seem to have any weapons, either, but that didn't mean anything. The girl at the lake hadn't had any weapons, and she'd killed Rory. He had no way of knowing what this boy could do.

Of course, the reverse was true, as well. The boy had no way of knowing that his power was completely useless in a fight. No way of knowing that he hadn't killed _anyone_ yet. The boy slowed a little, as if he'd finally seen Reese. He glanced around frantically as Reese took a step forward. "Easy," Reese called, holding up his hands. "Easy. I don't want to hurt you."

The boy took a step closer. "Really?"

"I'm not armed."

"Neither am I."

Reese nodded a little. "Okay. Okay, just take it easy. Who are you running from?"

"There are two of them – at the lake that way. They killed my…" He trailed off for a moment. "My friend," he finished at last. "Tariq. They killed Tariq."

"And they're still alive?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah. I just ran. They didn't see me, so—"

"You're sure they're alive?"

"I'm sure they were about an hour ago."

Reese shook his head. "Then someone was lying."

"About what?"

"About what the number seven meant."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Seven?"

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

"Seven?"

Cameron took a step closer to the other boy, not entirely sure what to make of the number. There had been a paper with the number seven the day before, but why would two contestants being alive back at the lake mean that someone was lying about a seven? "What do you mean?"

The older boy shook his head. "Simon and I – we found three other contestants, and the little girl said that … that the seven meant there were only seven of us left. They were going to fight two girls at another lake. Two girls at the lake, three in their group, me and Reese – seven. But now there's you, and two others back that way, so that can't be what it meant."

"Maybe the girl was lying," Cameron offered.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I…" The boy hesitated, but then decided to keep going. "That's my ability. I translate things. I can understand what people are trying to say – what they _mean_ – even if someone else is changing what they're going to say. Maybe even if they're lying. I don't know. But she seemed so certain."

 _Even if someone else is changing what they're going to say._ "Who was in the other group?" Cameron ventured.

"Three younger kids – about your age, actually. One of them had a fox with her."

Jayden. And probably Verona and Austin, too. Cameron swallowed hard. Part of him wished he'd decided to join their group rather than teaming up with Tariq. At least they were still alive…

Or they had been, when the other boy had left them. "When was that?"

"Yesterday. They might still be there, if you want to…"

"What?"

"Try to find them. Are they friends of yours?"

"I … I don't know." Would they still consider him a friend? They'd spent hours on the plane together, but they hadn't spoken much during training after he'd decided to join up with Tariq. The others had thought he was giving up. Maybe he had been. But now…

He didn't want to give up. He didn't want to die. He had thought, speaking with Tariq during training, that he was ready to die with him rather than kill anyone else. But when danger had come, he had run. He had survived. And now Tariq was dead.

But he wasn't alone anymore. "Do you think your friend is still back there? Simon?"

The older boy shrugged. "I don't know. Let's go find out."

Cameron took a few steps closer. "I don't even know your name."

"Reese. Reese Delaney."

"Cameron Mercer. The girl with the fox – her name is Jayden. The others are Austin and Verona. And if … if they're still alive, I'd like to know."

Reese smiled. "Well then, Cameron. Let's go find our friends."

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She had been expecting to find something by now.

Penelope wiped the sweat from her forehead as she neared the base of the mountain. She'd been walking all through the night, but her effort was about to pay off. She could feel the power surging below the mountain. All that energy – just waiting to be tapped. All she had to do was find a way to absorb it, and…

And what? What would she do with it? What _could_ she do with it?

Or maybe the question was, what _couldn't_ she do with it? With that much power at her command, what _wouldn't_ she be able to destroy? But she would have to be careful not to destroy _herself_. She would have to think this through first. She needed a plan.

And she had the beginnings of one. She had hoped, heading towards the mountain, that she might find some of the other contestants. That she might gather some idea of what direction they were in, and try to direct the energy through the ground towards them. But she had seen no one all night. In the dark, of course, she could have passed close to someone and never known, but now that it was light, there was nothing. No one in _any_ direction. The other contestants could be anywhere. They could be on the other side of the island completely.

Penelope knelt down, removing a little of the food from her pack. She could afford to eat a little first. If there was no one nearby, she had time. She had time to think. Time to plan.

But not too much time. The MAAB had sent the note with the number seven the day before. There was no telling how many of the contestants had been killed since then. There might only be one or two others on the whole island. And it was better if she made the first move. Better if they didn't know that her attack was coming.

Penelope took a bite of the fish – the fish Monet had helped her catch. Well, 'helped' was being generous. Penelope had done the work, but Monet … they had been there. They had trusted her. And she had killed them without a second thought.

She hadn't had _time_ to think. But now … now she had nothing but time. Time and her thoughts. She'd killed the only other person who could have been there. The only other person who had wanted to help her. Not that she'd _needed_ help, but, still, it had been nice to have someone.

It had been nice to have company.

Penelope shook her head as she ate a little more of the fish. If she made it out of the Games – no, _when_ she made it out – then she could worry about having company. _Then_ she could worry about having someone to talk to. Then … what? What was the MAAB planning to do with the survivor? Once she was back in their hands, what did they have planned for her?

Penelope clenched her fists. She could worry about that later. Whatever they had planned for their survivor, it was better than the alternative. It was better than dying. Right now, she had to focus. She had to concentrate on the plan. Right now, she just had to survive.

Then she could worry about what would come next.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Once they had some breakfast, then they could worry about their next move.

Terry stretched his arms as Taylor gave his shoulder a little shake, holding out a raw fish. At least she seemed to have made good use of the time she'd spent watching. It had been too dark while he was keeping watch to see anything, let alone make a fishing net. But, from the look of things, she'd finally managed it. A small pile of fish sat by the shore of the lake, her footprints leading back and forth from the pile to the lake several times.

Footprints.

He could see them now, out of the corner of his eye. Terry pointed over to his left, at the footprints in the distance, by the boy's body. "Look! Over there."

Taylor turned. "What? The body?"

"No, the footprints by the body."

"Of course there are footprints by the body. We put it over there."

Terry shook his head. "No, over _there_. Leading _away_ from the body, but not over here. Those aren't our footprints."

"Are you sure?"

No. No, he wasn't sure. But all he needed was a better look. He and Taylor headed towards the body, and, sure enough, the footprints couldn't have been theirs. They were too small. "Someone else was here," Terry insisted.

Taylor nodded. "I guess they were. But when? In the dark, we wouldn't have been able to see them this far away."

She was right, of course. That was why they'd put the body over there in the first place – so they wouldn't have to see it. So he wouldn't have to look at what he'd done. "What if it was the boy who ran away from us?"

Taylor shrugged. "What if it was? He's gone now."

"But he left a trail. We could follow him."

"You want to follow him?"

Terry hesitated. He didn't particularly _want_ to follow the boy, but that was what they were supposed to do, wasn't it? Find the other contestants. Fight them. _Kill_ them. He and Taylor had managed to avoid doing that, for the most part. Sure, he'd stabbed the older boy at the lake, but he'd already been dead.

Hadn't he?

If he had already been dead, why had the other boy come back? There was nothing to gather from the body; the boy had taken both backpacks when he had run. So why return to see his friend's body, unless he was trying to find out whether his friend was dead? And why would he be curious about that if he already knew?

"He wasn't dead," Terry whispered.

Taylor glanced up. "Who wasn't dead?"

"Him." Terry nodded towards the body. "He wasn't dead. I … I killed him."

"Maybe."

No. No, not _maybe_. He'd had enough of 'maybe.' Now he knew for sure. The other boy was dead. He was a killer. There was no more denying that. No more trying to hide from it.

Terry shouldered his backpack. "I killed him. And I'm going after the other boy. If you want to stay here, that's fine. I … I understand." And he did. Who would want to stay with a killer? Who would want to stay with someone like _him_?

But Taylor shook her head. "No. No, I'll come. Just let me pack up the fish first, in case we don't want to come back here."

Terry nodded, watching silently as she placed the raw fish in her backpack, handing one to him and taking another to eat as they headed out, following the tracks. "It might take a while to find him," Taylor pointed out. "We have no idea how long ago he was here. It was probably while it was dark, which was hours ago."

She was right. It might take them a while. But they would find him. At least now they had a goal, which was better than sitting around at a lake doing nothing. And it was a goal that might bring him a little bit closer to going home.

Home. Except he didn't have a home to go back to. Neither did Taylor. All this was really bringing them closer to was a life of captivity, living in the MAAB's clutches and doing their bidding. Or, even if the MAAB decided to release them, surely a life of surveillance, of the government watching their every move for a sign of something wrong.

Was that really a life he wanted to go back to?

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

She was so close to going back now.

Verona sat up slowly, surprised to find it was light out. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have. The sun was creeping higher and higher in the sky. And she was still here. She was still alive. Which meant that the older boy hadn't come back during the night. He was probably still running the other way. Which meant she would have to find him. Which meant she would have to leave.

Verona pulled her jacket tighter. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to _move_. The bodies around her were a reminder of what she'd done, yes, but as soon as she left … as soon as she left them, it would be real. It would be over. She wouldn't be able to wait anymore; she would have to go after the other contestant who was left.

And the truth was, she wasn't ready to do that.

She'd only been able to manipulate the girl's duplicates into killing the others, after all, because they'd responded to the girl's spoken commands. She couldn't count on the same thing happening again – not when there was only one other person left. If she couldn't manipulate his words against him, what did she have?

A few knives. That was what she had. Slowly, she gathered the weapons she could find into a pile. The knives that the MAAB had sent her, Jayden, and Austin. The pocketknife that had belonged to the other boy. But that was it. Just a few knives, against…

What? What did the other boy have? For all she knew, he might be completely unarmed. But he was still bigger than her. Older than her. And he had a considerable head start, if he'd been running this whole time. How was she supposed to find him?

First things first. She slowly searched through the others' packs, gathering what was left of their food into one bag, eating a little and saving the rest. There was no way of knowing how long it might take her to find the other boy. If Jayden and Snowball were there…

But they weren't. Snowball had run off, and Jayden … Jayden was dead, her body lying in the snow that was stained red with her blood. Verona swallowed hard, fighting back tears. Jayden was dead, and it was her fault. But she'd had to do it. She hadn't had a choice.

Had she?

There was no time for that. Not now. Right now, she had to focus on staying alive. But, fortunately, there was only one other contestant to worry about – and he was probably on the other side of the island by now. What difference would a few more minutes make? Verona sat back down, her arms wrapped around her chest, trying to stay warm. She could wait a little while longer.

Then she could worry about finding the other boy.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She hadn't expected to find anyone else for a while.

Piper gave Akil's hand a squeeze as the vision snapped. "There's someone up ahead," she whispered. "A girl. She's alone, but…"

"But what?"

"I saw bodies. Dead bodies. I'm not sure how many, but … she was the only one alive."

"She killed them all?" Akil asked.

"I … I don't know. They might have killed each other, and she survived. Or she might have just found the bodies. I don't know."

There was silence for a moment, and a scratching noise on the ground. "Victoria thinks you should go find out," Akil explained. "But if you think it's too dangerous—"

Piper shook her head. It wasn't too dangerous. As long as she didn't _actually_ go. She took a deep breath, trying to focus. Trying to ignore the sudden burst of light as her power took over and her sight returned. She raced forward in her vision, towards the girl and the lake up ahead. Every second counted. Every second was one more bit of information.

This time, the girl saw her. She looked up, startled, and immediately burst into tears. Piper halted, surprised, as the girl continued to weep. "They lied," she whispered through her tears, staring at the bodies. "They lied."

"Who lied?" Piper asked, but, before the girl could respond, the vision snapped. Piper gripped Akil's hand tightly as the darkness returned. "I don't think she killed them," Piper reported. "She didn't try to attack me. There were five bodies. My guess is, they killed each other. And she said … she said 'they lied,' but I'm not sure who 'they' is."

"The ones who killed each other, maybe?" Akil guessed.

"Maybe," Piper agreed. "But why would seeing me make her realize that they lied?"

"I don't know," Akil admitted. "But it doesn't sound like she's a threat. It should be easy enough to avoid her."

"It would be," Piper nodded. "But…"

"But what?"

"She had food. In a backpack, and it seemed rather full. She's by a lake. Maybe she found a way to catch fish."

"And you think she'll share with us?" Akil scoffed. Silence for a moment, and more scratching. "You think we should take it?"

"This isn't about what we _should_ do," Piper insisted. "It's never been about what we _should_ do. It's about what's going to keep us alive when—"

"When _what_? You know something. I can tell. When are you going to tell us _what_ you think is going to happen?"

Shit. He knew. "What do you mean?" Piper asked, hoping she sounded confused enough. Hoping he would catch on.

But he didn't. "There's not even anyone coming after us, is there?"

"Of course there is."

"Then why haven't we seen them by now? You said they were two minutes behind us. We've been standing here for longer than that. We should at least be able to _see_ them by now, if they're coming."

"Maybe they turned around. I don't know."

"Bullshit."

"Why would I lie?"

Why _was_ she lying? Because Diana had told her to? Was that really a good enough reason to hide the truth from the people who were keeping her alive?

Suddenly, Akil squeezed her hand. "Shhhh."

"What do you mean _shhh_?"

"I mean we don't have to decide whether to go find that girl anymore," Akil whispered back. "She found us." There was silence for a moment, and then a little girl's voice.

"They lied."

* * *

 **Verona Diaz-Kamden, 13**

"They lied."

Verona could feel tears brimming in her eyes as the words left her mouth. She had thought, when she'd heard a voice, that maybe the other boy had come back to attack her. That maybe the Games would be over – right then and there. But it _wasn't_ the other boy. It wasn't even one person.

There were three of them. Two girls and a boy, staring down at her. One of the girls was wearing a pair of sunglasses and clutching the boy's hand tightly. His other hand was missing. They didn't appear to be in great shape, but they were definitely _alive._

Which meant the MAAB had lied. Jayden and Austin – they had died for nothing. She had _killed_ them for nothing. They would still be alive, if…

If what? If the MAAB hadn't sent the note? If she had been smart enough to realize they were being manipulated? She had manipulated the others into killing each other, but the MAAB had been controlling her like a puppet the entire time. They had _wanted_ her to trick the others into killing. They had _wanted_ her to be responsible for this.

Maybe. Or maybe they simply hadn't cared _who_ was responsible, as long as they got their game. "It isn't fair," she whispered. "You're alive, and they're … they're dead."

The girl with the sunglasses took a step forward. "What happened?"

Verona took a step back. "Why do you care?"

The boy laid his good hand on the girl's shoulder. "Piper, maybe we should just go—"

"No." The girl shook his hand off and took a step forward, nearly tripping over a rock. "Damn it," she muttered, taking off the sunglasses, revealing eyes that had been burned black. "If she were going to hurt us, she would have done it by now."

Verona swallowed hard, taking another step back. She didn't _want_ to hurt them. She had never wanted to hurt anyone. She'd thought that it was necessary, that she would only have to take care of a few more people in order to make it back. But now … now there was no telling how many of the other contestants were left. And she couldn't count on these ones to simply do as one of them said. They weren't about to turn on _each other._ It had worked before because she'd been dealing with different groups. These three clearly trusted each other already. They wouldn't turn on each other without a good reason.

Then maybe … maybe she could join them. "What happened here?" the blind girl repeated. "What killed these people?"

"I did," Verona whispered, almost surprised to hear herself say the words. But once she did, the rest came tumbling out. "Well, not exactly. _I_ didn't kill them, but … but they wouldn't have killed each other, if it weren't for me. Jayden and Austin – they only wanted to attack the other group because they thought we were the only ones left – the six of us and one other boy who ran off. We thought that was what the paper meant – the one that came yesterday, with a seven on it. We figured that meant seven of us were left. So when the other boys found us and told as that there were two girls at the lake, we thought that was it. That the Games were almost over. The other boy ran off, and we came here, but one of the girls could make copies of herself. But they had to do what she said. So I … I made her tell them to kill everyone but me. And they did, or, at least, they almost did. The other girl at the lake – I think she could control people's bodies, because she made the girl with the copies absorb them, and then I … I killed her. But I only did it because I thought I had to. I thought I would be able to go home. I just wanted to go _home._ " She dropped to her knees, not even bothering to try to hold back her tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never would have done it if I'd known there were more people left, and now I'm alone and—"

"Easy. Easy." The girl took a few clumsy steps forward and knelt down beside her. "Easy. You're not alone." She wrapped her arms tightly around Verona.

"Not anymore."

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

"Not anymore."

Akil watched silently as Piper held the little girl close. Wrapped in Piper's arms, the girl looked so small. So helpless. But if what she'd described was true – if she'd manipulated five people into killing each other – then she was anything but helpless. As much as Piper might want to help her now, as much as they might feel sorry for her, it was clear that, when it came down to it, she was willing to do anything to survive. If she had been willing to cause the deaths of five people – two of whom had been her friends – then she certainly wouldn't hesitate to turn on them when the time came.

Akil glanced over at Victoria, who shook her head, gesturing helplessly towards Piper, who was stroking the younger girl's hair while the girl wept, her face buried in Piper's jacket. Akil shrugged, but Victoria continued to shake her head, then pointed silently to the girl's backpack, where the handle of a knife was visible. Akil could feel his stomach churning, but he nodded back and concentrated.

It was always easier when he didn't have to project anything. When all he had to do was maintain the illusion that _nothing_ was happening. That Victoria _wasn't_ slipping quietly closer and closer to the girl's backpack. That she _wasn't_ reaching for one of the knives. And even if his illusion had slipped, the girl was too consumed by her tears to notice. And Piper couldn't see.

Akil's stomach lurched, and, for a split second, a wave of dizziness hit him, but he kept watching. He kept the illusion going as Victoria removed the knife, then, in one quick movement, shoved Piper away and drew the knife across the little girl's throat. "Wait!" Piper cried, but it was too late. She hadn't been fast enough.

But that didn't make any sense.

He recognized it by now – the slight dizziness, the turning in his stomach every time Piper used her power. He'd gotten used to it, but it was still there. And she'd had plenty of time to see what was coming. Plenty of time to stop it. To warn the girl, or to try to persuade Victoria not to strike.

But she hadn't. Instead, the girl's body went limp in Piper's arms, her eyes staring up, confused, as the blood flowed out. Then it was all over. Her eyes closed, and Piper laid the body gently on the ground, staggering to her feet and making her way slowly back to where Akil stood. "Why?" Piper whispered.

But she knew why. She'd let it happen. She'd had the chance to stop it, and she hadn't. "I think you know why," Akil answered coldly. "Just like _I_ know that there's something you aren't telling us."

"There's a good reason I'm not—"

"No. Either you come clean – _now_ – or you're on your own. What's going on?"

Akil took a step closer, and so did Victoria – the knife still in her hand. Another split second of dizziness, and Piper nodded.

"Okay, then."

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

"Okay, then."

Victoria raised an eyebrow as Piper took a seat on the ground. For a moment, Victoria thought she might be taking Akil up on his offer to part ways. But, after taking a deep breath, she continued. "I didn't tell you because Diana told me not to."

Diana? Who the hell was Diana? Victoria turned to Akil, who shook his head. "Diana's parachute was shot down at the start of the Games. But her power … she could … can … control dreams. Even after she died, she stayed alive in the dreamland."

Victoria nodded. Useful. But that didn't really explain why Piper was talking to her…

"She can also communicate with other people who are asleep," Piper explained. "People outside the island. Our coaches. Members of the MAAB. Anyone who's asleep."

"What did she tell you?" Akil asked.

"That someone's planning to try to blow up the island – kill us all in one fell swoop."

Akil shook his head. "How? If someone had the ability to blow up the island, wouldn't they have done it already?"

"The mountain – the one we've been heading away from – it's a volcano. This is a _volcanic_ island. Diana thinks one of the contestants has the power to tap into that."

"Based on what?"

"She didn't say."

"Do we even know she's telling the truth?"

"No."

Akil raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"No. We don't know. I thought she was, and I don't think _she_ would lie, but if she got her information from someone who's lying…"

"One of the board."

"It makes sense. They sent us those papers, and we all assumed it meant there were only seven of us left. They're trying to move the Games along. Trying to drive us together. If they want us to head away from the mountain, that might mean they _wanted_ us to go in this direction."

Akil shook his head. "Towards her?" He nodded to the girl's body. "Why?"

"I don't know," Piper admitted. "And that's the thing. There's no way of knowing _why_ they're doing anything. They might have even counted on us figuring out that they were lying. It was only a matter of time before we ran into more than seven people, after all. What did they think we were going to do then?"

"So we can't trust anything Diana says," Akil reasoned.

Piper nodded. "But we can't just ignore it, either."

"So what do we do?"

"If they were trying to drive us in this direction because they wanted us to find her, they've already got what they wanted. If there's someone else here they want us to find, we can avoid them. But we have to be ready, just in case Diana _was_ telling the truth. Or enough of the truth. If someone really _is_ trying to use the mountain to destroy the island…"

"Then we need to get as far away as we can," Akil agreed.

"Exactly."

Akil nodded, but Victoria gave his shoulder a shake and wrote in the snow. Akil nodded again. "Victoria's wondering why Diana didn't want you to tell us."

"Maybe she didn't want the MAAB to know that she's helping us."

"They already knew," Akil pointed out, turning to Victoria. "The first night, Diana told us where to find the boy who shot down her parachute. They knew she was helping us. Why would it make a difference now?"

Piper shook her head. "I don't know."

Victoria glanced at Akil. There seemed to be a lot that Piper didn't know. Why would she think that she could trust _any_ source outside the island? Everyone out there had an agenda. Hell, everyone _on_ the island had an agenda.

But Akil seemed satisfied. "Okay. So we keep heading away from the mountain, and we keep an eye out for anyone else. Victoria, what else is in that bag?"

Victoria poured out the contents of the girl's bag – two more knives, a small pocketknife, a water bottle, a blanket, a tarp, and two whistles. There were also a few fish – probably from the lake nearby – as well as a few small, furry rodents. Strangely, though, the rodents all had bite marks around their necks, as if they'd been killed by some sort of animal.

"They must have found some sort of dog or something," Akil reasoned when Victoria showed him. "The other younger girl – I bet it was the girl with the dog during training. Maybe she convinced some sort of animal to help them catch some food."

Piper shook her head. "Then we should definitely go. It might be back."

"It's nothing big, from the look of it," Akil offered. "Maybe a dog or a fox or something."

"Still, there might be more than one. And if it sees that we killed her…"

We. _We killed her._ Even though she hadn't done anything but keep the girl distracted, Piper was claiming some of the credit. Or maybe offering to share some of the blame. She hadn't really had a hand in the girl's death, but, all the same, she'd let it happen. Akil had made sure that the girl hadn't noticed Victoria reaching for the knife.

But Victoria was the one who had killed her. The one who had dragged the knife across the throat of a little girl who was crying. A little girl who had just wanted to go home. A little girl who hadn't done anything to them. At least the boy at the start of the Games had been fighting John. The boy in the storm had been trying to kill them all. This girl hadn't done anything.

No. No, that wasn't quite right. Just because she hadn't done anything to _them_ didn't mean she hadn't done anything. The girl wasn't innocent, either. If what she'd said was true, she'd caused the deaths of five people. And she was going to die, anyway. She'd _had_ to die, anyway, if Victoria wanted to go home.

And, more than ever, she wanted to go home.

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **Coach**

She had just wanted to go home.

Ian shook his head as he paced the room. Verona had just wanted to go home – just like the rest of them. She'd done what any of them would have done in her position. But so had Victoria. So had Piper and Akil. Maybe it would have felt good – for a moment, for an hour, for a day – to take the younger girl under their wing, but, eventually, Verona had to die in order for one of them to survive. Victoria had simply recognized that. Akil had gone along with it. And even Piper had done nothing to stop it.

Maybe that shouldn't have surprised him. It had been Piper, after all, who had strangled Isadore to death in his sleep even after realizing that he hadn't been the one to shoot down the parachutes. It had been Akil who had finally mustered the courage to kill Diana after it was clear that she had no chance. And Victoria … she'd manipulated John right into the storm, leading to his death. Maybe the three of them were at a disadvantage now, but there was a reason they were still alive when…

When twenty of the contestants were dead. _Twenty._ Only ten were left – a third of the number they'd started with. Ian shook his head. Alvin had been right. Even if Erik had managed to figure out where they were, by the time he arrived, there would have been no one left to save. It was only a matter of time before the Games were over. Hours, maybe. A day or two at the most. Could he really have found them by then?

Of course, that option was long gone. Diana had given Erik a false location. Where, he didn't know – and, with any luck, neither did the MAAB. He wished he had a way to talk to her – to _anyone_ – but they'd turned his collar back off, and they hadn't shown any signs of wanting to put him back with Maria and Vincent.

In fact, aside from delivering food every now and then, he hadn't seen much of _anyone._ Maybe they were too absorbed by what was going on in the Games to bother with him anymore. They'd gotten what they wanted when Diana had agreed to their terms. Maybe he simply wasn't useful anymore.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door – followed immediately by a creaking noise as Alvin entered, immediately shutting the door behind him. "Ian, the whole board is in an uproar."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Did you hear what Piper said?"

"Sure. She's been talking to Diana. I don't see the problem with—"

"But where did _Diana_ get her information? Who's been talking to _her_? Who would have known that Penelope was headed for the mountain? She's been talking to someone on the outside, and everyone wants to know who it is."

Ian chuckled a little. "And you think it was _me_?" He tapped his collar. "I haven't slept since we talked to Diana together."

"Neither have Maria or Vincent. We've had cameras on them the entire time. They haven't slept."

Ian shrugged. "Then it sounds like you have a problem. One of _you_ has been talking to her."

Alvin shook his head. "Exactly. And they know it wasn't me."

"How?"

"I haven't slept, either. Not since we talked to her."

"You woke up after I did."

"But Penelope wasn't heading for the mountain then. She only did _that_ because the others sent the papers – _after_ I fell asleep. Someone is feeding Diana information. Someone who's trying to help Piper."

"Or Akil or Victoria," Ian pointed out. "Maybe Piper just happened to be the one she talked to. Or maybe it's someone who's trying to hurt Penelope."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe they're trying to make sure _someone_ survives Penelope's attempt to destroy the island."

Ian shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. There are plenty of contestants who are already farther away than them. Terry and Taylor are on the other side of the island. So are Cameron and Reese."

"But they're all heading south. _Towards_ the mountain. Piper, Akil, and Victoria are heading away from the mountain."

Alvin froze. "No."

"No?"

"No. They're not heading towards the mountain – _or_ away from it." He shook his head. Ian nodded a little as he realized.

"They're heading towards each other."

* * *

" _And as frightening as it can be, that pain will make you stronger. If you allow yourself to feel it, embrace it, it will make you more powerful than you ever imagined."_


	32. Breaking

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _X-Men_ or _The Hunger Games_.

 **Note:** Just a friendly reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't yet.

My apologies in advance for this chapter's rather obnoxious length. There wasn't really a good place to split it up.

* * *

 **Breaking**

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **March 22nd, 12:31 AKST**

He didn't like secrets.

Nicholas' gaze swept the room, taking in the expressions of his fellow board members. He'd called them all together in the hopes of finding out the truth, but they all seemed equally confused about how Diana had gotten her information. "Is it possible Piper's lying about speaking to Diana?" Mack offered. "Is there any other way she could have found out that Penelope's heading for the mountain?"

Lillian shook her head. "Barring a very lucky guess, I don't see how. Her power allows her to see the immediate area surrounding her. Penelope's clear on the other side of the island."

"Maybe someone's managed to hack our computers," Francine offered. "If someone outside the island tapped into our cameras, they'd be able to see what was going on. They'd probably be able to piece together what Penelope's trying to do."

Judah shook his head. "But what would they have to gain from telling Piper? If they're trying to stop the Games—"

"I don't think they are," Alvin interrupted. "Whoever's communicating with the contestants, I don't think their intention is to stop the Games. I think they're trying to speed them up."

Nicholas shook his head. "I don't follow. They're heading away from Penelope. That increases the odds that some of the others will survive whatever she's about to do."

Alvin leaned back in his chair. "Except it doesn't."

"Why not?"

Alvin closed his good eye. "Let's not kid ourselves here. If Penelope decides her best strategy is to blow up the whole island, it won't matter one bit _where_ on the island anyone is. There won't be a damn thing anyone can do about it. Maybe Cassidy could have survived it by swimming, maybe Natasha can levitate long enough to survive, but the others won't stand much of a chance."

"So then what's the point? If they're not trying to lead the contestants away from Penelope, what are they trying to accomplish?"

"Penelope's a red herring," Alvin reasoned. "It was never about leading them away from Penelope. It was about leading them towards each other. Whoever is communicating with Diana wanted to drive Akil, Piper, and Victoria towards either Cameron and Reese or Taylor and Terry. Or both. And they're succeeding. The three groups should converge in more or less the same area, around the same time. It's a calculated move, probably made by someone who wants to speed the Games along."

"Someone," Hans repeated. "Care to venture a guess about who?"

Nicholas glanced around the table, and the other members of the board fell silent. Any one of them might have had a good reason to want to speed the Games along. After all, they only had Diana's word that she hadn't told anyone where the Games were taking place. Only the word of a dead girl was protecting them from a possible mutant attack. He couldn't really blame anyone for wanting to get the Games over with as quickly as possible.

What bothered him was the fact that they hadn't come to him first. Whatever their reasons, their actions were certainly having the desired effect. There were only ten contestants left, most of them headed in the direction of another group. It looked like Alvin's prediction of "about seven hours" might be about right. But Alvin had been awake ever since talking to Diana. He couldn't account for whether any of the others had slept, but…

But who would have acted without his permission? Judah had been going on just hours ago about why they _shouldn't_ interfere with how the Games were progressing, and both Lillian and Hans had expressed similar sentiments. That left Mack, Francine, and Anita. Maybe Francine wanted to stop the Games, but wasn't this the _opposite_ of stopping them? He didn't really know Anita well enough to take a guess at what she might do. Maybe Mack, if he thought he saw some advantage in ending the Games early. But what was in it for him?

What was in it for _any_ of them?

Nicholas shook his head. "Look, whoever it was … it worked. They're heading towards each other. It'll all be over soon. That's not the problem. The problem is, this wasn't a decision that the board approved together. I'm sure that whoever did this, you had a good reason, but—"

Alvin opened his good eye. "Nope. I'm sure they had what they _thought_ was a good reason, but I seriously doubt this is going to turn out the way they hoped. Still, good intentions have to count for something … Right, Judah?"

Nicholas turned sharply towards Judah, who was glaring at Alvin. After a moment, he turned towards Nicholas, nodding a little. "There was a good reason."

Nicholas rose from the table, glancing around at the rest of the board. "Out. All of you." One by one, the others left. Nicholas shook his head. "You'd better have a good explanation for this."

"I do."

"Why didn't you ask me before contacting her?"

"I didn't intend to contact her. She contacted me. I had to make a choice, and you weren't available to ask. I wasn't sure I'd be able to reestablish contact if I woke up and tried to find her again."

"What did you tell her?"

"Only what Piper told the others – that one of the contestants was heading for the mountain, which is really a volcano, and that she might be able to destroy the island."

"And you told Piper not to tell the others because…?"

Judah shrugged. "Diana did that on her own. Presumably, to avoid having to tell Piper that _I_ was her contact."

"But why all the secrecy around the rest of the board?"

"To avoid seeming partial." He stood up from the table. "Nicholas, we both know how this is going to go. If the rest of the board wants to pretend that we don't have any influence over who escapes that island alive, if they want to pretend that everyone has an equal chance … fine. Let them have their delusions. But we both know exactly what sort of survivor would be the most useful to us."

Nicholas shook his head. He wasn't saying anything new. Certainly nothing they hadn't discussed before. "Next time…"

"What?" Judah asked. "What would you have me do differently? I'll accept the responsibility if things go wrong from here, but I stand by my decision."

Nicholas sighed. "I'm not questioning your decision – just the way you handled it afterwards. You know I trust your judgment, but next time, I don't want to hear about it from one of the contestants. Next time, you come to me immediately afterwards – none of these guessing games. Clear?"

"Clear."

"And Judah?"

"Yes?"

Nicholas shook his head. "I hope you're right … about the results."

Judah nodded. "So do I."

"If you're not – if things go wrong – this one's on you. Understood?"

"Understood."

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

She was glad she'd actually been able to get some sleep.

Natasha glanced over at Ben as the pair of them headed back towards the lake where they'd left the rest of the fish they'd caught. It might take them a while to get there; the mountain near the lake was still rather small in the distance. But having some sort of goal – aside from killing however many contestants were left – made it a little easier to keep going.

And they were both well-rested now, which would be better for them if they happened to come across anyone. Not that she was _expecting_ to come across anyone any time soon. If she'd been right about what the seven meant, then there weren't very many of them left. And it was a rather large island. The MAAB didn't really have any way to make sure that they found each other, so it could easily be days before they came across anyone else.

Maybe.

Unless the MAAB had some sort of tricks up their sleeve. They'd sent the papers, after all. And if only seven of them were left – or _had_ been left then – then that meant that quite a few of the contestants had been killed. Had all of them really found each other by accident?

Of course, even if it _hadn't_ been an accident, there was always the possibility that the MAAB hadn't had anything to do with them finding each other. If the other contestants had actively been _looking_ for each other, then maybe some of them had powers that would make that easier. Just because her control of gravity didn't make it easier to find the other contestants didn't mean that none of _theirs_ would be good for finding people. If there was someone who could sense thoughts, or someone with good hearing, or a good sense of smell, then they might be able to track the others more easily.

Natasha clenched her fists. If _that_ was true, of course, it meant that there were some contestants out there who were actually _looking_ for a fight. Sure, she'd been willing to fight Cassidy, and the three of them had been willing to fight Parker and Clara, but they hadn't been _looking_ for other contestants to fight.

Had they?

Maybe. Maybe they _had_. They'd gone to investigate the storm, after all, knowing full well that it had probably been caused by one of the contestants. They'd been tracking the contestants who had killed Isadore – or who they were _assuming_ had killed Isadore – until they'd lost the trail. Maybe they weren't so different, after all, from anyone else on the island who had already killed. She had killed Cassidy. Cassidy had killed Juliska. None of them had tried to stop Isadore from leaving, even though they had all known it could get him killed. And Ben…

Natasha glanced over at Ben, whose gaze was fixed on the mountain as they walked, making sure they were still heading in the right direction. What _had_ Ben done? He'd saved her life last night – that she couldn't deny – but it was clear by now that his power was better for keeping people _alive_ than for killing them. When Cassidy had been alive…

Alive. When she'd been alive. Before Natasha had killed her. The words still felt strange. But when Cassidy and Ben had been working together, he could freeze the water that she was controlling. And he could still freeze and melt the water on the ground, but without the ability to fling it at someone…

Maybe he wasn't as powerful as he'd been with Cassidy at his side. But she still couldn't afford to underestimate him. Not now. Not when they were so close to the end.

Not when there were only a few of them left.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

They had no way of knowing how many other contestants might be left.

Reese glanced around nervously as he and Cameron continued onward. The sun was high in the sky, but he was even more uneasy now than he'd been the night before, racing forward in the dark. Then, he'd been fairly certain that he wouldn't run into anyone. He'd thought he was running away from the only other contestants on the island. Now…

Now, he wasn't certain of anything. The MAAB had lied when they'd said there were only seven contestants left, which meant they couldn't trust _any_ information they might get from elsewhere. All they had to go on was what they'd seen, and Cameron had seen two contestants back at the other lake. Reese had seen Simon, along with the three younger contestants.

But that had been a day ago. There was no telling whether Simon was still alive. Whether _any_ of the others were still alive. But he and Cameron kept going, because they didn't really have much of a reason to _stop_ , either. If they stopped, it might make it easier for others to find them. If the pair of contestants Cameron had seen decided to follow their trail, there wasn't much he and Cameron could do to stop them.

Their powers certainly weren't going to be very useful in stopping anyone. Cameron had told him he was immune to poisons, and, while that was certainly a useful thing, it wouldn't be much of a deterrent to anyone who wanted to come after them.

Not that his own powers were likely to stop anyone from attacking them, either. Reese chuckled a little. What a pair they made! A boy who could interpret languages and a boy who could eat anything. Useful skills in the real world, maybe, but this wasn't the real world. This was a game. A game that they had somehow managed to survive so far.

"What's so funny?" Cameron asked, surprised.

Reese shook his head. "Nothing. It's just … we're still alive. This is our third day on the island, and we're still here."

Cameron chuckled a little. "I guess I wasn't really expecting to last this long."

"Why?"

"Tariq and I – we decided not to fight anyone. Thought we could convince other people, too. But his power … he can … could … fall asleep, and no one would be able to tell that he was alive. He would be completely still. _Deathly_ still. The thing is … he couldn't always wake up. Sometimes he'd stay like that, and…"

"And that's how he got killed," Reese finished. "I guess there are worse ways to go."

Cameron looked away, trying to hide his tears. "I'm sorry," Reese apologized. "I didn't mean … I'm sorry he's dead. It's just that—"

"I know," Cameron nodded. "At least he didn't feel it. That's good. But I … I ran. I could have stayed and died with him, but I ran, instead."

"You wanted to live," Reese agreed. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"But that's not what I told him I'd do," Cameron argued. "We were supposed to die together. And I'm still alive."

Reese hesitated. Cameron was crying now, tears streaming down his face despite his efforts to wipe them away. Reese put a hand on Cameron's shoulder, and the pair of them came to a stop. "Look," Reese said gently. "I didn't know Tariq. You did. So you tell me … Do you think he would have wanted you to die with him? Or would he be glad that you're still alive?"

Cameron looked away. "I … I don't know."

"Okay, think about it this way. If your positions were reversed, and you knew you were going to die, would you have wanted him to stay and die with you … or would you have wanted him to live? Maybe even win?"

"Win?"

"Yeah. Someone's going to win this thing, after all. Don't you think he'd want it to be you?"

Even as the words left Reese's mouth, though, he knew they wouldn't do any good. Maybe Tariq _would_ have wanted Cameron to win. But if Cameron won, that meant _he_ was going to die.

And he didn't _want_ to die.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

He didn't want to die.

Cameron nodded a little, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I would have wanted him to live if … if I couldn't."

Reese managed a faint smile. "Then I think he'd want the same thing for you. Don't _you_ want to win? Don't you want to live?"

Yes. Yes, he wanted to live. He didn't _want_ to die. But he also didn't want to kill. He'd never wanted to kill. "I just wish we could all live," Cameron admitted quietly. "I don't _want_ to be part of this game."

Reese shrugged. "I don't think any of us _do_. What kind of sick person would actually _want_ to do this?"

He had a point, of course. None of the other contestants had wanted to be here, either. Even the two at the lake – the two who had killed Tariq – hadn't chosen to be part of the Games. They'd simply chosen to play by the MAAB's rules, because they wanted the same thing he did. They wanted to survive. They wanted to live.

Could he really blame them for that?

No. No, he couldn't. And that was the worst part. As angry as he had been at them when he'd found Tariq's body, he still didn't want to kill anyone. Not even _them._ Not even the pair who had killed Tariq. Because this wasn't really _their_ fault, either. The MAAB was forcing them to kill, just like they were trying to force him.

But he hadn't killed. Not yet. Not that he'd really had the chance. Even if he'd stayed at the lake with Tariq and tried to fight the other two, he probably wouldn't have been able to kill them even if he'd wanted to. He didn't have any weapons. They'd clearly had _something_ that they'd stabbed Tariq with. Whether it was some sort of weapon or whether it had something to do with their powers, he had no way of knowing, but they'd had something. Something that he didn't have.

Something he didn't _want_ to have.

Cameron looked away as he and Reese continued on towards the lake to the south. Towards their friends. Or whoever was left of their friends. Reese's friend Simon. Austin, Jayden, and Verona. He just hoped there was someone left to find.

What were they supposed to do if there was no one there?

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

What were they supposed to do now?

Piper took a deep breath, shaking the vision from her head as she, Akil, and Victoria packed up their bags to leave. No one was coming. And no one was ahead of them – not for a minute or two, at least. They'd agreed to keep heading away from the mountain, but how long could they keep doing that? What happened when they simply came to the end of the island? What if they hadn't found anyone by then?

What if they _had_?

They had no idea, after all, how many people were left – or where those people might be. They'd passed two contestants a while ago, and, if Diana was telling the truth, _someone_ was headed towards the mountain. That accounted for three people, as long as Diana wasn't lying. Or as long as someone _else_ wasn't lying to Diana. But even if that was true, they had no way of knowing _who_ was heading there, or who else might be left, or _where_ anyone else might be.

Piper shook her head as Victoria helped her to her feet. There were six bodies accounted for here – the little girl they'd found, along with the five bodies by the lake. The boy who had caused the storm was dead, along with at least two others – Victoria's ally and the girl he had killed. Then there was the boy she'd killed the first night, and Diana herself. Victoria had told them John had killed another contestant on the first day. That was twelve dead, at the very least. Even if the MAAB had been lying about there being seven contestants left, that was clearly much closer to being true now than it had been when they'd sent the note.

Was that _why_ they'd sent it? Had they been trying to goad the contestants into attacking each other? If so, it seemed to have worked. So what if…

What if that was what Diana was trying to do, too?

It had been Diana, after all, who had sent them out the first night in search of the boy who had shot down her parachute, only to find … someone else. What if Diana had been working with the MAAB then, too? What if they hadn't cared _who_ she killed, as long as she killed someone? As long as she kept the Games going.

Piper gripped Victoria's hand tightly. She'd been playing into their hand all along. They'd been pulling strings all across the island, and she'd gone right along with it. She'd _known_ the boy hadn't attacked Diana, and she'd killed him anyway. And now … now she'd stood by while Victoria had killed a little girl who hadn't done anything to them. A little girl who had lost her allies, her _friends_. A little girl who had been grieving, who had needed their comfort. Victoria had given her a knife, instead.

And she had let it happen.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

She had let him get away.

Taylor pulled her jacket tighter as the wind picked up again, swirling what was left of the snow across the ground. She could barely see where the boy's footprints had been only moments before, but Terry plodded onward, determined to find him nonetheless. If he only knew that she had, in fact, been awake when the boy had passed by them. That she'd thought about going after him then…

What would he do? Would he be angry that she hadn't woken him? Would he understand that she'd simply wanted to spare him from figuring out that he had, in fact, killed the older boy at the lake?

But he'd figured it out, anyway, despite her efforts to keep it a secret. He'd worked out why the boy must have come back. Of course he had. He wasn't an idiot. Had she _really_ expected him not to figure it out?

Taylor glanced over at Terry. She had hoped that he wouldn't. Ever since he'd worked it out, he'd been oddly silent, as if some sort of decision had been made. As if he'd simply decided that if he was a killer, he might as well act like one. But he was no more of a cold-blooded killer now than he had been a day ago. He'd known, after all, that there was a chance the boy was still alive when he'd stabbed him through the chest.

The only difference was that now he was _certain_. There was no longer a glimmer of hope that he hadn't done anything at all, that the boy had already been dead. He had _killed_ , and that was all there was to it. He had killed, and she hadn't.

What did that say about her?

She'd had the chance, after all, when the boy had passed by the lake. She could have followed him then. If he'd run from them before, he probably didn't have any weapons, or any powers that would be useful in a fight. He would probably have been an easy kill, but, instead, she'd let him go.

She wouldn't make the same mistake again. If she'd gone after him then – or woken Terry and gone after him together – they would almost certainly have caught up to him by now. And they would be safely back by the lake, not traipsing all the way across the island following footprints that were quickly drifting away on the wind. Soon, they might not even be able to tell which way the footprints were going.

Suddenly, Terry pointed. "Look!"

Taylor looked where he was pointing, but she only saw snow and rocks. "What?"

"There. In the snow. I think there's more than one set of footprints."

Taylor bent down to look. Sure enough, there was another indentation in the snow that _could_ be another footprint. Or it could simply mean the boy had stopped and turned around, leaving more than one set. But there _did_ seem to be more than one set of footprints leading away. Unless, of course, the boy had doubled back – either by accident or in an attempt to trick them into believing there was more than one person. But if he was trying to do that, wouldn't he have done it sooner? Why try to throw them off his trail now, when he'd been going in more or less a straight line for … what? Hours?

No, Terry was probably right. There was probably more than one person. But if they'd found each other here, there didn't seem to be any signs of a struggle. In fact, the tracks led off in the same direction. Had the boy meant to meet up with someone here? Maybe. Or maybe they hadn't been there at the same time at all. Maybe one of them had found the other's footprints and was doing exactly what she and Terry were doing right now – following them and hoping for the best.

But did that mean hoping that they found the boy, or hoping that they didn't?

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

He wasn't sure whether to hope that Diana was lying or not.

Akil glanced around nervously as the three of them kept walking. They hadn't seen anyone since leaving the little girl's body, and Piper kept glancing into the future every now and then to see if there was anyone coming. But that didn't mean that there wasn't danger coming from elsewhere. If Piper was right about someone wanting to destroy the island…

No. Not Piper. Not even Diana, really. The information was coming from somewhere else, and they couldn't be sure of anything that Diana said. As much as Diana might want to help them, if someone was lying to _her_ , there was nothing she could do. She had no way of knowing whether her information was accurate or not, and neither did they.

But they kept moving anyway, because it seemed like a better option than staying put. Certainly better than staying around a bunch of dead bodies – one of whom Victoria had killed. He didn't blame her for that – not really. He might have done the same thing, if she hadn't made a move to do it first. No matter how harmless she might have seemed, the little girl had been dangerous enough to cause the deaths of the others at the lake. They couldn't afford to take any chances of the same thing happening to them.

At least in that, they'd all been in agreement. No one seemed to want to talk about it, but they had all known what had to be done. And both he and Piper had been willing to let Victoria do it. They'd been content to let her do the dirty work, yes, but no one had stopped her, either. She'd simply been the one with the knife.

Now, of course, they all had knives. They'd split the knives they'd found in the girl's pack, so at least they were armed. At least they would have _some_ sort of defense if they came across someone else. Not that a knife would be much help against someone who could change into an animal and rip them to shreds, or someone who could teleport out of their way, or someone who could kill them without having to bother getting close. But it was better than what they'd had before.

It was better than nothing.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Maybe there wasn't much of a trail, but it was better than nothing.

Terry bent down a little, trying to get a closer look. The trail wasn't as clear as it had been farther back. Maybe the other contestants had realized they were leaving a trail and had decided to try to walk where there wasn't as much snow. Maybe they'd simply gotten lucky. Either way, their trail was getting harder to follow.

Still, he kept going, because what other choice did they have? They could turn around and go back, but what would they be going back to? The lake? They'd brought plenty of food and water along with them. Staying at the lake would just make them more of a target. At least this way, they were the ones doing the hunting, instead of the ones being hunted.

Hunting. It didn't sound quite as bad, when he thought about it like that. Hunting was something that people did for sport. For fun. And maybe this wasn't _fun_ , but as long as he thought about it as a challenge, it made it a little easier. Easier than thinking about what they would have to do when they caught up to the boy they were chasing.

The boy they were _hunting._

Terry clenched his fists tighter. He didn't _want_ to kill the boy. He hadn't _wanted_ to kill anyone. He just wanted to get off this island, out of these damn Games. And the only way to do that was to survive. And the only way to survive was to kill. He hated it, but he could afford to hate it once he was out. Once he was safe.

Safe. Terry scoffed at the thought. Mutants like him would never be safe. Even before the Mutant Registration Act, he would never have been able to hide. Mutants like Taylor – ones who looked normal – they were the lucky ones. They could blend in. They could hide in a crowd. He would never have been able to do that – not once his power had begun to show. He could never have hidden what he was.

And now there was no point. Even if he made it out of the Games alive, his face would be plastered all over television. Everyone would know who he was. Everyone would know he was a killer. There would be nowhere for him to hide, even if he wanted to.

So maybe there was no point in wanting to.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

There was no point in waiting any longer.

Penelope closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. She could feel the energy surging below the surface of the mountain. If she could find a way to bring that energy to the surface, she could absorb it. For now, it was just waiting – waiting for her, just out of reach.

Penelope knelt down, her hands pressed to the ground. There had to be a way to reach it. Some way to tap into that energy. Maybe if she could blast some sort of hole in the ground. But, for that, she needed energy to absorb.

Slowly, she stood up, stretching her arms and legs. There was a cliff nearby. If she jumped off that, the energy from the impact might be enough. Enough for a blast strong enough to cut a hole in the rocks. Maybe that would be enough to release the energy inside. It was certainly worth a try.

What was the worst that could happen?

Penelope shook her head. The _worst_ that could happen, of course, was that the energy in the ground might be too much for her to absorb, or too much for her to _control_ once she'd absorbed it. Her training had been meant to test the limits of her power, but they'd never pushed her this far. Most of the energy she'd absorbed in the past had come from being attacked. Maybe they hadn't realized that she could absorb energy from the earth itself.

Or maybe they had. Maybe they'd realized it, but hadn't wanted to tell her – or had wanted to keep the information to themselves until she was older. Until she was ready. Maybe they'd simply never had the chance to explore that possibility before she'd escaped. But now…

Now she would have to be ready. There was no other choice. Either she would be able to absorb and use the energy, or she wouldn't. There was no middle ground.

And she had to try. There was no telling how few contestants were left now. This might be her chance to end the Games. If she made her move now, while no one was expecting it, she might be able to catch the others off guard. There couldn't be many of them left by now. The end _had_ to be close.

 _Okay. First things first._ She headed for the cliff, ready to jump down. The surface below wasn't quite as flat as the other beach had been, but it would have to do. Penelope clenched her fists and jumped.

The first impact was easy to absorb, but getting back up the cliff wasn't quite as easy. She could simply jump, of course, but that would mean using some of the energy she'd absorbed, and she wanted to save that. The more she saved with each jump, the fewer times she would have to jump in order to accumulate the energy she needed. And she didn't want to jump any more than she had to.

She could still see Monet's face, the first time they'd leapt off the cliff together, down to the beach to catch some fish. Monet had been frightened, but there had been something exciting about it, too. There had been a certain thrill to sharing her powers with someone else, someone who wanted to use them to keep the two of them fed, to help them survive, rather than to kill.

But she'd killed Monet, anyway. Monet was dead. Rachel was dead. Along with so many others. _Too_ many others. Twenty-nine, by the time this was all over. Twenty-nine dead contestants. Dead mutants. Dead _people_.

And she didn't intend to be one of them.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

He didn't intend to die along with them.

Ben stretched his arms as he and Natasha continued towards the mountain. It was still quite a ways away, but steadily growing closer. Natasha was floating along seemingly without effort, leaving no trail behind. She could probably have levitated him, as well, but they'd agreed that it was probably best to leave one trail of footprints. That way, someone who was following them would only expect to find _one_ person. Maybe they would think they could handle one person. But when they found two, instead…

Ben shook his head. It was probably an unnecessary precaution. If they were right about how many contestants were left on the island, there probably weren't many people around to _find_ their trail. And whoever might still be left was probably too smart to be fooled by that sort of trick. After all, if they'd managed to survive this long…

Then what? _He_ had survived this long, after all, as had Natasha. But Natasha was only alive because he'd helped her. Because he'd kept her alive after Cassidy's attack. Without him, she would be dead – which was something that she couldn't say about him. Maybe she'd been useful, but it wasn't as if he'd be lost without her.

So why had he helped her?

Ben clenched his fists, glancing around, looking for someone. Something. _Any_ thing. Natasha seemed content not to talk, but the silence was beginning to feel almost suffocating. How long could they keep ignoring each other? How long could they keep ignoring what had happened?

What he had _allowed_ to happen. What he had _encouraged_. Natasha had no way of knowing that, of course – that he'd been awake for the whole thing. That he could have stepped in at any point. That he'd been allowing the air to grow colder, making them more irritable. More irrational. More paranoid. Maybe their fight had even been his fault.

Ben looked away. Was _that_ why he'd saved her? Had he felt guilty for prompting them to fight in the first place? But that didn't make any sense. If they hadn't fought then, it would have happened later. Eventually, one of them would have had to die.

No. Eventually, _both_ of them would have had to die, in order for him to live. And however sickened he might be by the thought that he'd goaded his allies into fighting each other – into wanting to _kill_ each other – the thought of dying made him even sicker. Maybe what he'd done was wrong, but this wasn't a matter of right or wrong anymore. It was only a matter of what was bad and what was _worse._ Killing was bad. Dying was worse.

Maybe it really was that simple.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

Maybe it really was a good thing she couldn't speak.

Victoria glanced over at Piper and Akil as the three of them made their way across the rocks, Piper occasionally stopping to assure them that there was still nothing up ahead. Nothing up ahead, but quite a few bodies behind. And there could easily have been more bodies along with them, if she'd had her voice.

The others probably hadn't put it together – the real danger that the little girl would have posed. She'd been enough of a threat when she'd been able to mix up the words of someone who was talking to her own duplicates. If she'd been able to control Victoria's words, she could have convinced anyone to do anything. She could have told Piper and Akil to kill her, or to kill each other, and no one would have been able to stop her.

But she didn't have her voice. And Piper didn't have her sight, which would have made her immune to Victoria's power even if she'd had control of it. She needed eye contact, after all. And she couldn't make eye contact with someone without _eyes_.

The point was moot, of course. She _didn't_ have her voice. She wouldn't have guessed that she would ever be grateful for that, but she couldn't imagine what it would have felt like to have the girl manipulating her words, twisting them to suit her own ends. She had thought, when she'd discovered she'd lost her voice, that nothing could make her feel more helpless. But having someone _else_ control her power … that would have been worse.

Was that how other people felt, when she used her power? Helpless? Powerless? Victoria swallowed hard. She'd never really thought about it like that before. Never bothered to wonder what it felt like for the other person, completely at the mercy of whatever she wanted them to do. They didn't _know_ , of course, that she was manipulating them. But did that make it better or worse?

It didn't matter now. She couldn't use her power. Maybe she would never be able to again. But that didn't mean that it was over. That didn't mean that she was going to stop fighting. Maybe she didn't have any useful abilities now, but she had a weapon – the knife she'd used to kill the little girl. And she had her friends.

Friends. _Shit._ When had she started thinking of them as friends? That wasn't good. She couldn't start doing that. Not when there were probably only a few contestants left on the island. Not when Piper and Akil would have to die eventually in order for her to live. She couldn't afford to think of them as friends. She couldn't afford to get attached.

Why now? She'd never gotten attached to anyone in her life. Not really. Other people had been useful, yes, but they'd never really been _friends._ They'd simply done as she'd asked – as she'd _commanded_ – without hesitation. She'd never _doubted_ them, but she'd never really trusted them, either.

She'd never needed to.

But could she really trust these two? Sure, they needed her now, just like she needed them. But, eventually, they would realize what the little girl had: that it was every man for himself. And when they finally realized that, what would they do?

What would _she_ do?

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

What would they do if there was no one at the lake?

Reese glanced over at Cameron as they continued in the general direction of the lake. Or, at least, what he was still _pretty_ sure was the direction of the lake. He hadn't really been paying much attention when he'd run away. He'd simply wanted to get as far away as he could, as quickly as he could.

And now he was heading back. Back towards Simon and the three younger contestants. Back towards the girl at the lake – if she was still alive. Back towards the place where Rory had died.

Rory. It seemed like ages ago now. It had only been … what? Two days? It was hard to believe this was only their third day on the island. But if the girl had been wrong about the seven meaning there were seven contestants left – and it seemed obvious now that she had – there was no telling how much longer the Games might last. He was still alive, yes, but how much longer would he have to survive in order to make it out alive?

 _Later_. He could worry about that later. Right now, his priority was finding Simon – and whoever else might be alive along with him. Assuming _Simon_ was still alive.

Reese shook his head. He couldn't start thinking like that. Simon was probably still alive. He was armed, after all. Maybe he only had a pocketknife, but the younger contestants they'd run into had been armed with knives. That was something. More than the girl at the lake had. If they'd managed to catch her off guard, then maybe…

Maybe what? Maybe they were still alive? Or maybe he and Cameron were heading towards nothing at all. Maybe there was no one left. Maybe Simon and the others were dead. Maybe the two girls were still at the lake, untouched, and they were going to their deaths.

Reese gave Cameron a pat on the back as they walked, and Cameron managed a smile. If nothing else, at least they had each other. If they reached the lake and saw that the girls were still there – or that their friends were dead – they could always turn around and come right back here.

Not that there was anything for them here, either. Maybe Cameron could eat whatever he pleased, but the reason he and Simon had been heading for the lake in the first place was because they'd wanted to find some food. His terror had taken his mind off the hunger for a while, and Cameron had shared what little food he had left, but if the Games _were_ , in fact, far from over, then they would eventually need to find more. Preferably quite a bit more. And the lake still seemed like the best place to start.

Suddenly, Cameron stopped short. "What is it?" Reese whispered.

Cameron shook his head. "I thought I heard something, but now … now it's gone."

"What did it sound like?"

"Voices, maybe. It was coming from that direction." He pointed off to their right.

Reese looked where he was pointing. He didn't see anything, but that didn't necessarily mean there was no one there. Maybe they were hiding – although there didn't seem to be anything to hide _behind_. Or maybe they had some sort of abilities that were hiding them from sight. Or maybe … well, maybe they were simply too far away. If Simon were here, he would know. He would be able to tell if voices were coming from that direction.

Which meant, of course, that if Simon was up ahead, he already knew they were coming. He and Cameron had been talking freely – although not too loudly – for a while. If Simon _was_ in the area, he would certainly know they were there.

Which left a few options. Maybe Simon was dead. Maybe he was waiting to see what they would do. Or maybe he didn't _want_ to be found.

Reese shook his head at the thought. He hadn't really thought of that before. He'd assumed that Simon would be happy to see him, happy to know he was still alive. But he'd run away. He'd abandoned Simon, leaving him to attack the girls at the lake with the help of a few younger kids.

Would Simon really _want_ to work with him again?

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

How much longer would Taylor want to keep working with him?

Terry glanced over at Taylor, whose eyes were still fixed on the ground in front of them, searching for any sign of the trail. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, but there was nothing to say that would make this easier. He was a killer. And she … she was hiding something. What, he wasn't sure, but there was something in her expression – an uneasiness that hadn't been there the day before.

Maybe she was growing suspicious of him. He'd killed a boy in his sleep, after all. What was to stop him from doing the same thing to her, if things started to go wrong. Or maybe he was simply imagining things. Maybe there was nothing wrong. Maybe…

No. No, the idea that _nothing_ was wrong was just too absurd. They were on an island with other mutants who were trying to kill them. _That_ was wrong to begin with. Everything else was just icing on the cake.

But maybe he was imagining Taylor's mood. Maybe the silence was only uncomfortable because _he_ was uncomfortable with it. Maybe it had nothing to do with her at all. She might be perfectly fine with the idea that he'd killed a boy.

He wasn't sure which theory he was more frightened of – that what he had done disturbed her, or that it didn't. If it did, what would she do when it came time to fight? But if it didn't even bother her, what might she do to _him_ when the time came?

 _Stop it._ She was probably wondering the same thing about him. Wondering what he might be capable of, if it came down to it. But they were far from that point. Maybe once they found some of the other contestants, they might have some idea of how many of them were left. But for now … for now, all they knew was that it was the third day. They knew at least a few of the other contestants were dead – including the one he'd killed. And at least a few were still alive – including the one they were following.

Anything beyond that was just a guess.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

"If I had to take a guess, I'd say they're maybe ten minutes away."

Akil shook his head as Piper gripped his hand tightly. "I thought you couldn't see that far ahead."

"I can't," Piper agreed. "Just far enough to see them in the distance. I couldn't get close enough to tell who they were, but it looked like there were two of them. If we keep going, I could get closer, but that would probably mean letting them know that we're here. There's not really any cover between here and there. Just open rocks. And now that it's daylight…"

"There's nothing to stop them from spotting us," Akil finished.

"Exactly. We have to make a choice."

 _A choice._ Akil shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Victoria. Piper was talking about deciding whether to avoid the other contestants or to attack them. Just like she'd wanted to decide whether to attack the little girl at the lake or not. But that had been one contestant. This was two. There were three of _them_ , of course, but even combined, their powers weren't particularly useful in a fight.

But maybe there didn't have to _be_ a fight.

They needed more information. They needed to know what they were up against. But there was no way to figure that out without getting closer. And getting closer would give away their position. Unless…

Akil hesitated. Whenever he'd tried to use his power to project an image into more than one mind at a time, he hadn't been able to hold it for long. But projecting _something_ was more difficult than projecting nothing. If he could project the illusion that there was _nothing_ out of the ordinary, that might give Piper enough time to get closer without being seen.

But was he close enough for that to work? It was harder to project into the minds of people who were farther away. And he'd _never_ tried it on someone he couldn't see. He couldn't count on that working at all. So in order for it to work, _he_ would have to get closer, too.

Was that worth the risk? If the two contestants up ahead were still alive, chances were good that they had some pretty useful powers. What did they have working for them? A blind girl who could see a few minutes into the future. A one-handed boy who could project an illusion into _one_ of their minds. And Victoria, who might be the most able if it came to a physical fight but whose powers were all but useless if she couldn't talk.

But before he could offer a suggestion – a suggestion that they stay as far away from the other contestants as they could and hope for the best – Victoria tapped him on the shoulder and scribbled something in the melting snow on the ground.

 _I have a plan._

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She had a plan.

Penelope closed her eyes, kneeling down close to the earth. As close as she could get to the power surging below. She had enough energy stored up from a few jumps to the beach below that she was fairly certain she could blast a hole through the top layer of rocks. After that … it all depended on what she found. She was sure the mountain was really a volcano, that she would be able to tap that energy, but whether she could control it … she would just have to find out.

Part of her was even _excited_ to find out. Even now, even in these circumstances, there was something exciting about pushing the boundaries of her powers. Testing her limits. Thinking of it as a challenge made it easier. Easier than thinking about the contestants – the _people_ – that she might kill if this went as planned.

Penelope shook the thought from her head. Monet and Rachel were already dead. There wasn't anyone else on the island that she had any reason to be attached to. She didn't even have any idea who else might be left. There might only be one or two others by now. One or two more people to kill. Maybe it sounded terrible, but she'd already killed Monet. Someone who hadn't been threatening her. Who hadn't attacked her. Someone who had _trusted_ her. Whatever she was about to do now, it couldn't be worse than that.

Penelope took a deep breath, gathering as much energy as she could. One blast. That was all it would take. One blast, directed deep into the ground. Then…

 _Three. Two. One._

The force of the blast shook the earth around her for a moment. Dust and rocks flew up into the air, making her glad she'd closed her eyes. When she opened them, the debris was beginning to settle. There, below her hands, was a hole in the rocks of the mountain, and, deep below, something warm and red.

Then the earth began to shake again.

Penelope stood up slowly, shakily. The ground beneath her feet was trembling. She took a step back. Then another. The red liquid below the ground was starting to rise. Was it supposed to do that? Maybe. Maybe that was just the lava bubbling to the surface. But once it reached the air…

It was rising faster than she'd thought. Penelope clenched her fists. What had she been expecting? This was what she'd wanted. All this raw power, just bubbling to the surface. All she had to do was stand there and take it.

Wasn't it?

The lava spilled over the edge of the ground. It was almost at her feet. Penelope braced herself. She'd taken jolts of energy before without being harmed, but was this the same thing? This wasn't pure electricity, after all. It was molten lava. She could already feel the heat, but it wasn't too late to just back up and run the other way.

No. No, it _was_ too late. Maybe it had always been too late. She'd tried running. Running away from her training. From what she'd been taught to do. Running away from what she'd done to Monet. It was time to stop running. She couldn't help a smile as the lava reached her feet.

It felt _good_.

* * *

 **Reese Delaney, 22**

It felt like a lifetime since he'd seen Simon.

Reese glanced around, scanning the horizon for any sign of his friend. Maybe it was a little premature, but he couldn't help hoping that Simon would be happy to see him. If he'd managed to survive attacking the girls at the lake, maybe he would even have some food to share. Or some supplies that would be useful. Maybe he'd managed to find another weapon or two.

But even if he had, would he want to share them?

Reese shook the thought from his head. Once he learned that there weren't, in fact, only a few contestants remaining, he was sure Simon would be glad to have him back. Glad to have _anyone_ back. He couldn't imagine being alone on the island for long. He was just glad he'd found Cameron. If he hadn't, he might still be running, convinced that the only remaining contestants on the island would be coming after him next.

Of course, if the girl who had told him what she thought the seven meant was still alive, _she_ might still be coming after him. But he and Cameron could probably handle her. And, in any case, once she saw Cameron, she would realize she was wrong. Maybe she would even want to join them.

Reese took a deep breath. He was getting ahead of himself. First, they had to find out who was still _alive_. Then he could worry about whether any of them would want to join up with him and Cameron. Cameron had been willing enough to form an alliance, but Cameron had also lost his only ally not long before. He would probably have been willing to join up with anyone who crossed his path.

Reese couldn't help a smile. That was a good thing, wasn't it? It meant that Cameron hadn't wanted to kill him. Even after three days on the island, even after Tariq had been killed, Cameron still didn't want to fight. And neither did he. Even after what had happened to Rory. Even after the girl at the lake had killed him. Even though Simon had wanted to go back and get revenge, he had never really wanted revenge. He had just wanted food.

Food. It seemed like such a simple thing – such a _human_ thing – to want. It was such a normal part of everyday life that he'd never really imagined how long he could last without it. Reese chuckled a little, and Cameron looked up, surprised. But before he could ask what was so funny, Reese saw something in the distance.

It was a person. One of the other contestants. That was all he could tell for sure from a distance. But whoever it was, they were moving closer. Not very quickly, though, and they seemed to be stumbling a bit, unsure. Maybe they were hurt. "Who do you think it is?" Cameron whispered.

Reese shook his head. "I don't know." There was only one way to find out for sure, but that meant getting closer. Could they really risk that?

Reese squeezed Cameron's hand tightly. "I'll take a closer look," he offered. "Stay here." That seemed like the safest course of action. If it was Simon, or one of the contestants they'd run into before, they might recognize Reese, but not Cameron. They might be less likely to attack him.

Maybe. If it _wasn't_ someone he knew, they might be more likely to attack one person alone than to try to take on both of them. But the girl who was stumbling in his direction didn't look ready to attack anyone. There was blood on her shirt, and she was swaying unsteadily, as if dizzy or hurt. As Reese drew closer, the girl sank to the ground, and Reese rushed to her side.

"Are you all right?"

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"Are you all right?"

Piper bit back the words she wanted to say. She was fine – or, at least, as fine as she'd been ever since the fight with the boy from the storm. She couldn't see the boy in front of her, but she'd seen him in a vision only moments before. He was older than her, stronger than her … but in the minute or so that she'd been able to hold onto the vision, he'd made no move against her. He wasn't going to hurt her.

But she was going to hurt him.

That was the plan. Victoria's plan. They had sent her ahead, hoping to draw one of the two contestants away from the other so that Akil could project something into his mind without distraction. And, so far, it seemed to be working. The boy couldn't see the knife in her hand. That was all Akil was projecting – an illusion that nothing was going on. That she _wasn't_ about to kill him.

"I'm all right," Piper lied. She wasn't. She wasn't injured, of course. The blood on her shirt was Verona's, and she had meant to fall. But what she was about to do … it wasn't all right. All of this was wrong.

But it was what had to happen.

 _They're trying. But we can't count on that. We have to fight._ That was what Diana had told her, after Ian had revealed during training that two members of the MAAB had voted against the Games and might be trying to help them. Even then, Diana had been worried that she wouldn't have what it took. That she would chicken out when it came to a real fight.

But she hadn't. She had killed a boy the first night. She had helped fight the boy inside the storm. She had let Victoria kill Verona. And now…

Now it was her turn. But this time, the boy wasn't asleep. This time, he would feel it. Piper gripped the knife tightly in her hand – the knife he couldn't see. The knife that Akil was shielding from his view. She _had_ to fight. There wasn't a choice now.

Besides, it wouldn't be much of a fight. She had already seen it. All she had to do was strike. That was all it would take. The boy would be too startled, too scared – or maybe simply too defenseless – to fight back. All she had to do was use the knife.

"What happened?" the boy asked.

Piper shook her head. "A lot." It wasn't a lie. It seemed like a lifetime since they'd landed on the island. But this boy's death could bring them just a little bit closer…

"What's your name?"

"Piper." No reason to lie. "What's yours?"

"Reese. I—"

But before he could finish the sentence, Piper struck, plunging the knife deep into his chest. Once. Twice. The boy fell backwards, screaming. "Cameron! Cameron, run!"

Cameron. The other boy. The younger one. He was telling his friend to run. Piper couldn't see whether or not the other boy was listening, and she didn't really want to look. She could hear footsteps behind her – Akil and Victoria, coming to make sure she was all right.

Or maybe just wanting to know whether the job was done.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

She'd done the job surprisingly well.

Victoria couldn't help a nod of satisfaction as she and Akil joined Piper, who was still sitting beside the boy's body. He was barely breathing, and, after a moment, even that stopped, and his body went completely still. Victoria laid a hand on Piper's shoulder, but Piper shrank away, startled. "Sorry," she quickly apologized. "I just … didn't think it would be that easy."

Akil knelt by her side and quickly helped her to her feet. "Even after what you saw?"

"I only saw up until the moment I stabbed him," Piper admitted. "I didn't see what he'd do afterwards. I thought he might fight back. Try to grab the knife. It's what I would have done. Instead…" She shook her head. "What happened to the other boy?"

"He ran off that way," Akil answered. Then, realizing Piper couldn't see which way he was pointing, he clarified. "Left. Back the way he came. We could follow him, but I doubt we'll be able to catch him."

"No harm in trying," Piper suggested. "If he ran off instead of trying to help his friend, I doubt he'll put up much of a fight."

Victoria nodded. She wasn't wrong. As long as they could catch the boy, they probably wouldn't have a hard time finishing him off. But catching him might prove to be a problem. The same trick wouldn't work twice; this time, if the younger boy saw someone coming towards him, he'd probably run the other way as quickly as he could.

A part of her was still surprised it had worked in the first place. Surprised that anyone who was left would have tried to help Piper rather than opting to finish her off when it appeared she had been injured. Then again, she, Akil, and Piper had decided to team up rather than fight each other when all three had been hurt. They'd had no reason to do that, other than not wanting to fight.

Victoria gave Piper's hand a squeeze as the three of them set out again. For three people who had only ended up together by chance, they had done pretty well so far. And the plan had gone even better than she'd expected. She'd offered to be the one who went ahead and pretended to be hurt, but Piper had insisted that she was better equipped to talk herself out of the situation if it went sour, or to see in advance if the other contestants were planning to attack her instead of help her.

As it turned out, she had been right. Everything had gone perfectly.

So why did something feel wrong?

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

Everything had gone wrong.

Cameron kept running, brushing the tears from his eyes as he fled. Tariq was dead. Reese was dead. And he was still alive. Running again – away from the people who had killed his friend. But what else was he supposed to do? By the time it had been clear the girl was trying to kill Reese, it had been too late. Too late for him to do anything but obey Reese's last request and run away as fast as he could.

It felt like he had been running forever. Ever since they'd landed on the island. Cameron gasped for breath as he slowed down a little. Maybe the others weren't following him. Maybe—

"There!"

 _Shit._ Someone had seen him. But the shout had come from ahead of him. He could see two contestants, one of them pointing in his direction. A girl and a boy. He couldn't be certain from this distance, but they were coming from the direction of the lake where Tariq had died. Were they the same ones who had killed Tariq?

Cameron turned as quickly as he could. He couldn't afford to stick around and find out. But maybe … maybe he still had a chance. If he could lure these two towards the ones who had killed Reese, maybe they would ignore him. Maybe they would be more interested in fighting each other. Maybe.

It wasn't much of a plan. But it was all he had. They were gaining ground quickly. He turned and raced back towards the others – towards where Reese had died.

He would just have to hope that he was fast enough.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

The kid was faster than he looked.

Taylor couldn't help a smile as she and Terry chased after the younger boy. No wonder they hadn't caught up with him all day. He was moving pretty quickly, but now that they could see him, rather than trying to follow his trail, they were gaining ground. It wouldn't be long before they caught up to him.

Then she saw the others. Three more contestants in the distance, moving towards them. _Shit._ Had he been leading them into a trap? She grabbed Terry's arm. "Wait."

Terry slowed to a stop. "I see them."

"Then they can probably see us," Taylor reasoned. "We're outnumbered. We need a plan."

"Do you have any ideas?"

No. No, she didn't. They'd been following the boy's trail, expecting to find one person. Maybe two, once they'd come across the other pair of footprints. But four? If they were all working together, it might be safest to avoid a fight.

But _were_ they all working together?

The boy didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to reach the others, now that she and Terry had stopped. The boy they had been chasing had stopped, too. Maybe he was just catching his breath. Maybe he was just tired. Or maybe … maybe he wasn't trying to get _back_ to the other group. Maybe he had been running away from them.

Maybe he was trying to draw them all together.

If they kept going, they could play right into his hand. But if they didn't … was this really an opportunity they could afford to pass up? There were four other contestants here. If they could manage to kill even one or two, that would even the odds. And the boy who had been running – she doubted he had any sort of powers that would be useful in a fight. He would have used them by now. He would have done _something_ by now. He was probably improvising just as much as she was.

But she'd been doing it longer.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

She'd been doing this longer than he had.

Terry watched as Taylor considered the situation, watching the three contestants in the distance and the boy who was running towards them. So far, her instincts had been pretty good, and he had no reason not to trust her now. She'd been living on the streets for years. She probably had a better sense of what was dangerous or not than he did. Yes, he'd been the one to kill the boy back at the lake, but that boy had been asleep. The four contestants in the distance were very much awake and might even be ready for a fight.

Was that really a fight they could expect to win?

Finally, Taylor nodded. "Let's do this. If we get closer and it looks they're armed, we can always run away."

Terry couldn't help a smile. At least she considered running away a viable option. She wasn't ready to get pulled into a fight that they couldn't win, but she also didn't want to pass up the chance to bring themselves a little closer to going home. Terry nodded, and one of the bones in his arm began to grow, a jagged edge poking out through the skin. After a moment, it detached, and he handed it to Taylor as a second one began to grow from his other arm. "Let's go."

Taylor nodded, and they headed for the other contestants.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

Now there were _three_ contestants heading their way.

Akil gripped Piper's hand as a momentary dizziness hit him. "What did you see?" he asked.

"Two of them, besides the boy. They have some sort of weapons. Sticks, maybe – or some sort of bones. I don't know. I didn't get close enough."

"Think we should run?" Akil offered.

Piper shook her head. "I don't think we can. Not fast enough to get away."

"Want to try playing injured again?" Akil chuckled.

"Not with these ones. They're chasing a little kid."

"So are we," Akil pointed out.

Piper's face grew red. "I know that! I'm just saying that—"

"That we don't want to count on them wanting to help someone who's hurt," Akil finished. "Got it. So what's the plan?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, if the plan isn't running, we'd better come up with something quick."

Suddenly, Victoria gripped his arm. She pointed to her chest, then to the contestants in the distance. "What is it?" Piper asked. "What's she saying?"

Akil shook his head. If Victoria was suggesting what he thought she was suggesting, he couldn't let her. It wasn't safe.

But _nothing_ was safe now.

Victoria drew her own knife and nodded decisively. Then, before either of them could stop her, she shoved Piper aside and took off towards the other group of contestants. "Wait!" Akil called, but Piper grabbed his good hand and held him back.

He just hoped Victoria had a plan.

* * *

 **Cameron Mercer, 14**

This was a terrible plan.

Cameron gasped for breath as he darted off to the side, hoping to avoid the girl who was charging at him. But it was too late. She quickly changed direction to match his, but she was faster. Taller. She had longer strides, and it didn't take her long to catch up. Cameron turned, swinging his backpack off his shoulder in her direction. Maybe if he hit her with it, she would think twice. Maybe she just wanted some supplies. Not that he had anything particularly useful in his bag, but _she_ didn't know that. Maybe it would be enough to make her stop.

But it wasn't. The bag barely hit her, and she kept running. Cameron turned just in time to see the knife in her hand. Maybe the same knife that had killed Reese. Maybe not. It didn't matter. He ducked beneath the first blow, but he couldn't dodge the second. The knife sliced across his stomach, and he tumbled to the ground, clutching at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Please!" he cried. But it did no good. The knife came down again. Cameron closed his eyes as the pain began to spread through his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Who he was apologizing to, he wasn't sure. Maybe his family, for not being able to come home. Maybe Tariq and Reese, for not staying and dying with them, instead. If he was going to die, anyway, maybe it would have been better to stay.

At least then he wouldn't have been alone…

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

Maybe she wasn't as alone as she'd seemed.

Taylor stared as the girl with the knife stood up, leaving what was left of the boy's body charred on the ground. The girl turned towards them, the flames still blazing around her. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Taylor muttered.

"Why not?" Terry asked, sounding genuinely confused. As if he couldn't understand why attacking someone who could project flames out of her body was a bad idea. "It looks like she's the only one who wants to fight, and she just has a knife."

"Just a knife? Did you see what just happened there?"

"She stabbed him. What did I miss?"

"You didn't see her burst into flames?"

Terry raised an eyebrow. "No. You did?"

"Yes. They're still burning right now. That kid's body is charred to a crisp."

"I see blood, but I don't see any flames."

Taylor nodded. "Okay. Okay, so one of us is seeing what's really going on, and one of us is seeing … what? An illusion? Something they want us to see?"

"That makes sense, I guess," Terry reasoned. "But which is which?"

Good question. And, really, the only question that mattered. If she was seeing the truth, their best option was to run. But if Terry was right – if all she had was a knife – then they could probably keep on going. Between the two of them, they could probably manage to overpower her, now that she was alone. The other two had stayed farther back. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would they stay back there? Those two?"

"Maybe they didn't want to get burned," Terry offered.

"Or maybe it's one of _them_ projecting the illusion, and they can only do so from a distance – or they can do it _better_ from a distance, without distraction. Or maybe she's the only one who's armed."

"Or maybe they're trying to lure us in," Terry reasoned.

Taylor shook her head. "Or maybe they're trying to scare us away. Maybe they _want_ us to run."

"Maybe we should."

Taylor hesitated. The girl was still standing there. Waiting. As if watching to see what she and Terry would do. The other two hadn't budged, either. Moving might give some sign of what they planned to do. If they started moving away, that could mean the fire had been a trick, and that they didn't really want to fight – just to scare them away. But if they started moving towards them, instead, that might confirm Terry's guess that it was a trap. Instead, they hadn't moved at all. It was a standoff.

And someone had to make the first move.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

Eventually, someone would have to make a move.

Akil clenched his good hand tightly, holding on to the illusion as long as he could. But he couldn't maintain it forever. He had hoped that the fire would be enough to scare the other two away, once Victoria killed the younger boy. But the two contestants in the distance hadn't budged. Neither had Victoria. Maybe she didn't want to give away that she had no intention of really fighting them. Maybe she really _did_ want to fight. The other two had a pair of weapons, but she might still have a chance, if she got lucky.

 _Don't be stupid. Just come back._ Akil took a deep breath, trying to ignore the headache caused by holding onto the illusion of fire for too long. He couldn't afford to let the illusion drop. If he did, they would know. They would know Victoria couldn't really char them to a crisp with just a thought. They would know that it was all an illusion.

One of them probably already knew. He hadn't been able to project it into both their minds – not from this distance. They were probably talking. Trying to figure out who was seeing the truth. "Piper," Akil whispered. "Look ahead."

"You sure?" Maybe she was worried about disrupting his concentration. Maybe she just didn't want to see.

"Yes."

Akil held on tighter as a moment of dizziness and a turning in his stomach threatened to shake his control. But then it was over, and Piper shook her head. "We need to go."

"But Victoria—"

"We're not close enough to help her. We need to go _now_."

Just then, the other contestants started moving. Moving _towards_ Victoria. Victoria took a step backwards, but they were moving too quickly. "Go!" Piper insisted. "We can't help her. We need to go _now_!"

But he couldn't just leave her.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

They were too far away to help her.

Terry gripped the bone he held tightly as he and Taylor raced towards the girl. The other two were too far away to reach her in time, but she didn't try to run. Maybe she was still hoping to be able to scare them away. But whatever Taylor had seen, it must have been the illusion. If she had the power to burn them down with a thought as Taylor seemed to think she had done to the younger boy, wouldn't she have done it by now?

Wouldn't she have done it minutes ago?

Of course she would have. That was what he would have done. If he had the ability to kill from a safe distance, he would have used it. But all he had right now was a bone knife. If that was all he needed, he preferred not to exert himself. Crafting anything bigger took more effort, and if Taylor was right about the girl only having a knife herself, their weapons were probably enough to do the trick.

The girl took another step back, raising her knife. Taylor struck first, diving for the girl's legs. She stepped aside in time, but Terry had already circled around behind. She tried to dodge, but his bone-knife still grazed her side. By that time, Taylor had circled, and the girl narrowly avoided a knife in the back as she sidestepped again, swinging at Terry. The knife barely missed his arm. The girl had a slightly longer reach, but she was outnumbered.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

It was only a matter of time.

Victoria stole a glance back at Piper and Akil as she dodged another blow from the boy's knife. They were still standing there. She wanted to call to them to run. If they weren't going to be any help in a fight – and she knew they weren't – then they might as well get themselves to safety. Instead, they were just standing there.

What were they waiting for?

 _Oh._

Victoria dodged again, the girl's blade grazing her arm as she struck. She struck back, her knife sweeping towards the girl's arm. The blade drew blood, but, only a few seconds later, the cut was gone. Was that the girl's power? Some sort of super-fast healing?

Then the boy's probably had something to do with the weapons the pair were holding, because they certainly weren't regular knives. They looked more like sharpened bones. But she didn't have any time to figure it out, because something struck her in the back. She turned in time to see the boy, who had circled around her. There was blood on his knife, and pain in her back. More pain than she would have imagined. What had he hit? Her heart? No. No, she would be dead already. Wouldn't she?

There wasn't much time. She took a step towards him – a move he clearly hadn't expected. He held out his knife, slicing, but she grabbed hold of his arm. She just hoped she was right about why Akil had stayed. She gripped the boy's arm tightly, meeting his gaze as the girl's blade entered her back.

The boy took a step back.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

"Kill her."

Terry blinked, confused. "Kill her," the girl repeated, slumping to the ground. Terry took another step back. Kill who? Kill Taylor? Why would she want him to do that? Why would _he_ want to do that?

He gripped his bone knife tighter. Why _wouldn't_ he want to? It was only a matter of time, after all, before Taylor turned on him. Was there really any reason not to do what the girl had said?

What _had_ the girl said?

Terry took a step forward. Towards Taylor. The other girl was as good as dead now, but Taylor … she was the real danger. Maybe she had been the real danger all along. He wouldn't get a better chance than this, now that she was distracted. If he was going to do something, it had to be now.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was charging towards Taylor, his knife drawn. Startled, she didn't even realize what was happening until his weapon was buried in her side. She staggered backwards a little as he pulled it out, but then straightened up as the wound began to heal. "What the hell are you doing?"

What _was_ he doing?

Terry didn't answer. He simply charged again, and Taylor raised her weapon in defense. She dodged his next blow, and the next. But it was only a matter of time. She only had the weapon he had given her. _He_ had an entire body of bones at his disposal.

And he meant to use them.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

He had used her.

Akil grabbed Piper's hand as the other two contestants continued to attack each other. "You were right. We need to go."

"But Victoria—"

"You were right. We can't help her."

"What did you do?"

"I bought us some time." He hadn't been sure that his plan would work. Hadn't been certain whether Victoria's power would still work if the words hadn't _actually_ come from her, but, rather, had been part of his illusion. But it had apparently worked well enough. Or maybe the boy would have attacked the girl anyway. Either way, they had a chance to escape.

And he meant to take it.

Akil gave Piper's hand a tug, and they took off as quickly as they could. There was no telling how long it would take one of the two to kill the other, and he wanted to be as far away as he could get when that happened. Piper squeezed his hand tightly as they ran, trying desperately not to trip over the rocks and slow them down. Because if he was willing to leave Victoria, what was to stop him from leaving _her_ if she started to slow him down?

Nothing. There was nothing to stop either of them from leaving the other. They had just proven that. He had thought that maybe they would be able to stay together longer. That the three of them stood a chance of winning a fight together. But, when push had come to shove, they had both been willing to leave Victoria to die if it meant that they would survive.

But, by the same token, Victoria had been willing to let them do just that. _She_ was the one, after all, who had ran on ahead to attack the boy. She hadn't needed to do that. She could have simply taken off and run. Maybe she wouldn't have been able to outrun the other two contestants, but she and Akil could certainly have gotten away faster than Piper. They could have left _her_. But Victoria had taken the initiative, instead. She had attacked. She had … sacrificed herself? Maybe. Whether she had meant to or not, that was how things had turned out.

That wasn't quite what he'd been expecting.

* * *

 **Victoria Ramirez, 21**

This wasn't quite what she'd been expecting.

Victoria gasped for breath as blood continued to pool around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Akil and Piper running for their lives. _Good_. They would have quite a head start, if the two contestants continued the way they were going now. Dodging each other's blows. Neither of them seeming to have the upper hand. They were fairly evenly matched, which was more than she had been able to say for herself.

But she had gotten the best of them, in a way. Or, rather, Akil had. Whatever he had said – whatever he had used _her_ to say in an illusion – it seemed to have convinced the boy to fight. But how long would that last once she…

Once she was dead. There was no avoiding that now. Everything was starting to grow blurry, but she had to hold on as long as she could. If her control was the only reason the boy was fighting, there was no telling what might happen once she was gone. Would he stop fighting? Or would he _have_ to keep fighting because the girl now thought he was trying to kill her?

Victoria closed her eyes. Not her problem. It _couldn't_ be her problem. Not for much longer. She just hoped Akil and Piper would have enough time to get away. That was the best she could hope for now – that one of them would go on to do what she hadn't been able to.

Except … except it wasn't about what she had been _able_ to do. She could have run away. She could have run from the other contestants, and probably gotten away, too. As long as they'd stopped to finish off Akil and Piper first, she probably would have been safe for a while.

But she hadn't run. She had fought. She had _chosen_ to fight.

And that felt good.

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Everything felt so strange.

Terry gasped for breath as Taylor struck again, narrowly missing his chest. What had come over him? Why the hell was he fighting Taylor?

And why was she fighting _him_?

"Wait!" Terry called as Taylor swung again. "Something happened! The girl! I think she – she told me to attack you."

Taylor scoffed. "And you listened?"

"I didn't have a choice!"

Taylor swung again. "That's a load of crap! You've just been waiting for the chance to kill me, haven't you."

"No! Why would I?"

"Maybe because you could tell I'd be your toughest opponent." She took a step closer, swinging again. His knife sliced across her arm, but she barely blinked. "All those hours practicing during training – you know what I'm capable of. What I don't understand is why you suddenly thought you'd have a better chance now."

Terry clenched his teeth. He _didn't_ have a better chance now. He could grow himself some bigger weapons, but that would take time. Time he didn't have. He had to do something _now_ , but what? What could he do to someone who could heal from any blow, any cut, any wound? How could he really expect to be able to kill her?

Terry took a step back, gasping for breath. He'd never really thought about it before, because he hadn't _wanted_ to kill her. He'd been hoping that someone else would be the one to do it, because he couldn't imagine the thought of killing a friend. But that option … that was gone now. Even if he wanted to stop the fight, he couldn't. She thought he wanted to kill her.

Now he didn't have a choice.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

She didn't have a choice now.

Taylor gripped her weapon tightly as Terry swung again, another bone starting to emerge from his arm. A longer one this time. Whatever he was about to try, it wouldn't work. It took him time, she knew, to construct anything much larger than the knife he'd given her. That was time he didn't have.

Time she wouldn't give him.

She lunged forward, and Terry took a step back. Then another. Back towards the other girl's body. "Don't you see this is what she wanted?" Terry demanded. "She was trying to give her friends time to get away!"

"Then I guess she was a better friend than you!" Taylor spat. Maybe it sounded childish, but she had thought that maybe – just _maybe_ – she and Terry would be able to last until the end of the Games together. That maybe they could simply refuse to fight. Maybe they could just choose to live here on the island forever. It wasn't as if either of them really had anything to go back to.

But now that hope, that fantasy, that illusion … it was gone, just like the fire that had surrounded the other girl. It was just as fake, just as much a figment of her imagination. Only one person was going to survive these Games. And if she wanted it to be her, then Terry had to go.

She had always known that, really, in the back of her mind. She had known that the two of them wouldn't be able to beat the Game. But she had hoped that someone else would be the one to kill him. She had never wanted to do it herself. She had never wanted to kill him. She had never wanted to kill _anyone_.

But now she didn't have a choice.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

They didn't really have any choice but to investigate.

Natasha glanced over at Ben, who shrugged – the same thing he'd done when they'd first seen the plume of smoke rising from the mountain. The mountain that, apparently, wasn't simply a mountain. If it was a volcano, then whoever was there had made a grave mistake.

If they were trying to scare her and Ben away, it wouldn't work. She could levitate above whatever lava they might want to send her way, and Ben could simply cool it off, leaving it harmless. Besides, it was almost pleasantly warm now that they were closer to the mountain. Whether any of that was Ben's doing, or whether the volcano was warming the air that much, she wasn't sure. But she was certain that Ben would be able to stop it from getting dangerously hot. Wouldn't he?

She'd never seen him try to cool off something that hot before. Hell, _he_ probably hadn't even thought about trying to cool off a volcano before. Maybe it would be safest to simply turn around and head the other way. A few days ago, that was probably exactly what they would have done. In fact, it was pretty much what they _had_ done, when they'd seen the storm the day before.

Had it only been the day before?

Yes. It was still only their third day on the island. It felt longer. It felt as if it had been weeks since they'd landed. A lifetime, really. And for so many of the contestants, it _had_ been the rest of their lifetime. It could easily have been the end of hers.

But it hadn't been. She was still alive, and so was Ben. Thanks to each other. Whoever was at the mountain, the two of them would be able to handle them. It probably wasn't more than one or two contestants, at the most. How many of them could really be left? It had been seven before – hadn't it?

As long as that was what the seven had meant.

Stop it. She had no reason to doubt that was what the MAAB had been trying to tell them. Only seven of them left then. So only a few left now. What if whoever was at the mountain was the only competition left?

That was why they couldn't ignore the smoke. Why they couldn't simply leave well enough alone this time. If this was a chance to end the Games, they had to take it.

She just wanted it to be over.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She never wanted this to end.

Penelope smiled as the energy from the volcano continued to course around her. Through her. She had never imagined this sort of power. She certainly would never have guessed she would be able to absorb this much, that she would be able to control it. But she was still here. The energy hadn't destroyed her. As far as controlling it … she hadn't really _tried_ to use it for anything yet. She'd simply stood there, taking in as much as she could. Waiting.

But waiting for what? She couldn't simply stay here forever. Could she?

Maybe she could.

What could they do to stop her, if she wanted to? If she wanted to simply stand here forever, basking in the raw power of the volcano, what could they do to stop her? Turn off her collar, maybe, but they wouldn't. Not now. If they were going to do that, they should have done it sooner. Obviously, their curiosity had gotten the better of them. They wanted to see what she would do.

But what if she simply chose to do nothing?

Or what if she chose to go after _them_?

They had said, after all, that they would be on an island nearby, to the north of the island. She could probably hit it with some sort of blast before they had a chance to turn her collar off. Maybe she could kill them – all of them. The members of the board, their coaches, the other contestants.

But that would probably mean killing herself.

Maybe. If she let loose that much energy – enough energy to destroy the island – what would happen to her? Even if she didn't end up blown to smithereens herself, what would she do? Would destroying the island end up with her in the water, swimming for her life? She could swim, of course – that had been part of her training – but even she couldn't last forever in the freezing water. And they'd said the nearest land was a hundred miles away.

That was what they'd _said_.

Could she really trust anything they'd said?

Penelope closed her eyes. She _had_ been trusting what they'd said, whether she'd realized it or not. She'd taken their word that they would allow one person to survive the Games. That they were where they said they were. That there had only been seven contestants left when they'd sent the slip of paper.

If there had only been seven left then – six after she'd killed Monet – then there couldn't be very many left at all now. Maybe one or two besides her. All she had to do was figure out where they were. If she could target them with some sort of blast from the volcano, she could end the Games right now.

If she only knew where they were.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

She probably didn't even realize they were there.

Ben couldn't help staring when he saw the girl, standing knee-deep in lava, letting the liquid surge around her. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell from her breathing that she was still alive. Alive, and completely unharmed by the volcano. He and Natasha were perfectly fine, too, of course, but they were standing much farther away.

"What do we do?" Natasha whispered. As if he would know what to do. As if this had been part of what they'd prepared for. He had no _idea_ what to do. No idea how to fight someone who could withstand that much energy. But they had to do something. For all they knew, the girl was the only other contestant left on the island. Killing her might be all that stood between him and home.

Not quite.

Even if he and Natasha managed to kill the girl, that would still leave two of them. Assuming there was no one else left. That still left Natasha standing between him and home. Maybe he'd made the wrong decision when he'd saved her from freezing to death. If he'd been thinking about how few of them were left…

But he hadn't been thinking about that. He'd only been thinking about saving his friend. And there was part of him, at least, that was glad he had. She could fly, after all. Levitate. Whatever. Which meant that she could safely avoid the lava that was flooding the ground. And the heat wouldn't harm him. Maybe he could even cool it down. But was that really the best idea?

 _Think._ He needed a plan. Their group had always been able to come up with some sort of plan during training, when Maria had been teaching them how to fight the little robots that the MAAB had provided. But this was different. They weren't facing a robot. They were facing a little girl, and, as strange as it sounded, she was probably more threatening than anyone they'd come across so far. She was still alive, after three days on the island. She was standing, unharmed, in a pool full of lava. Lava that had to have come from somewhere. The mountain hadn't been smoking before. Had she really released all that energy?

Maybe. They had no idea what she could do. They would have to be careful. But they had to do _something_. And they had to do it quickly.

It was only a matter of time before the girl noticed them.

* * *

 **Maria Nanami, 25  
** **Coach**

It was only a matter of time before Penelope noticed them.

Maria shook her head as Natasha and Ben ventured slowly closer to the volcano. They probably had no idea exactly what they were dealing with. Penelope had managed to tap into the volcano's energy; the power there was practically limitless. Or, rather, it was limited only by what she could absorb. Which seemed to be quite a lot.

 _Just leave._ Maria took a deep breath, wishing she could tell them to get out of there. A fight wouldn't be good for anyone, no matter which way it went. If they interrupted Penelope's concentration, there was no telling what might happen to the energy that she was harnessing. If they distracted her – even for a second – she might lash out without realizing what she was doing. She was only twelve, after all. How much control did she really have over the energy she was tapping? She was unharmed by the lava, yes, but if she tried to _use_ that power, would she really be able to control it?

It was only a matter of time before they found out.

* * *

 _"And as frightening as it can be, that pain will make you stronger. If you allow yourself to feel it, embrace it, it will make you more powerful than you ever imagined. It's the greatest gift we have: to bear their pain without breaking."_


	33. Human

**Disclaimer:** I don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Last reminder to vote in the Victor poll if you haven't already. After the next chapter (not this one, but the one after), it'll be rather moot.

* * *

 **Human**

* * *

 **Dr. Anita Donohue, 34  
** **March 22nd, 14:36 AKST**

She still wasn't sure what to expect.

Anita leaned back in her chair, watching the screen. At Alvin's suggestion, she'd headed to the room she'd prepped as a hospital, ready for her patient to arrive. There were only seven prospects left, and she still wasn't sure what sort of injuries to expect. When lava had started flowing from the volcano, she'd thought that maybe she would have to be prepared to treat some severe burns, but there were only three contestants near the volcano. One of them had been standing in a pit of lava for a solid hour without any ill effect. Another could control heat, and the third could easily float above whatever lava might cover the ground.

She'd also thought, with the idea of the island crumbling to pieces on the table, that she might have to treat hypothermia from the cold water that whoever survived would probably end up in. But so far, Alvin's concerns that Penelope might destroy the island seemed rather unfounded. As for the others, Taylor and Terry had yet to seriously injure each other – and what scratches Taylor had sustained were quickly healing themselves. Terry was tiring, but as far as injuries, whoever survived the fight seemed likely to walk away with knife wounds, at the most. Well, _bone_ wounds, technically, but the basic concept was the same. Lacerations. Stab wounds. Nothing unusual. Nothing that would require any particular expertise.

As for Akil and Piper, their only weapons were a pair of knives between them. Nothing she couldn't treat, given the right equipment. And she had the right equipment in spades. Akil was already missing a hand, and Piper her eyes, but she doubted there would be any complications with infection from either of those if either of the two managed to survive.

"Everything ready?" Alvin's voice at the door caught her by surprise. He smiled a little. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"I think we're all a little jumpy," Anita admitted. "Not long now, if you were right about seven hours."

Alvin smirked. "You think I was wrong?"

"I think it'll be a bit longer than that. Think it through. Ben, Natasha, and Penelope are on one side of the island. Terry and Taylor are on the other. Akil and Piper are in the middle. However this goes, it'll take longer than that for them to reach each other."

Alvin nodded a little. "I may have been a bit off. But better to be ready too early than too late."

"Fair point. But I've done pretty much everything I can here. There's not much else to prepare until I know exactly what I'll be dealing with."

"I suppose not." He turned to go, but apparently thought twice. "Do you mind if I stay? The others are getting a bit … testy."

Anita nodded. "I think we all are. But you're welcome to stay. Pull up a chair."

Alvin plopped down on the operating table, instead. "So what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Your new job."

Anita shook her head. "Hardly. Once the Games are over, I'm headed back to work. This was just a temporary gig."

"I'm sure that's what they told you."

"What would they need me for once the Games are over?"

Alvin shrugged. "Who knows? I'm sure they'll come up with something. They always do. I haven't been back home in … well, it's been a while."

Anita nodded. "Where's home?"

"Georgia. You?"

"All over. Army life."

Alvin shook his head. "But there must be somewhere you hang your hat when you're not … army-ing."

Anita couldn't help a chuckle. "My mother's in Washington. Or, at least, she was the last time I heard from her. It's been a while."

"Family troubles?"

"Not really trouble – just differences. She grew up in the sixties. Love, drugs, rock 'n roll. It was fun when I was little, but I grew up. She didn't."

"Sounds like I'd like her."

"I bet you would. What about you? Any kids?"

Alvin shook his head. "Never had the pleasure. And now … not sure I'd want any."

"Because of the Games? Because you're worried they might turn out to be mutants?"

"No. I have enough pull with the board to avoid getting my family members involved, if I had any. But to raise kids – mutants _or_ ordinary humans – in the sort of world that would allow something like this…"

Anita shook her head. "I thought you said you objected to the Games on mathematical grounds, not moral ones."

"I did."

"And now?"

"Now nothing. Now they exist, and there's nothing I can do about it. I warned them. And it didn't do any good. Now we don't have a choice." He shook his head.

"Now we have to live with the consequences."

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Would he really be able to live with himself if he did this?

Terry took a step backwards as Taylor swung again. And again. She didn't seem to have any qualms about trying to kill him. And maybe that was fair. He'd struck the first blow, after all. For all she knew, he had been serious about trying to kill her from the start. He'd tried to tell her what had happened – that the girl had gotten inside his head somehow – but he couldn't really blame her for not believing him. Would _he_ believe her, if she'd said the same thing? Or would he believe her actions?

Terry gripped his weapon tightly, waiting. Waiting for her to make a mistake. He'd learned during training that he couldn't hope to overpower her through sheer force. Whatever harm he inflicted, she could recover from with ease. He couldn't chip away at her defense little by little, because she would just build it back up again. What he needed was one big mistake. One chance to end it.

But he was beginning to think he wouldn't get it. He was tiring, and Taylor … even during training, she'd never seemed to tire. She could probably keep going for hours. But he couldn't. He needed to do something soon, or he might never get the chance.

 _Just think_.

But he couldn't think. He was too tired. He took another step back. Then another. It was only a matter of time before she wore him down, and she clearly knew it. She was saving her strength. She could afford to wait.

He couldn't.

Suddenly, his foot touched something. The girl's body. The girl he and Taylor had killed. The girl who had manipulated him into trying to kill his friend. Terry could feel his face flushing red – with anger, or perhaps with shame. She had tricked him, but he had let himself be tricked. He'd known her power had something to do with affecting people's minds; that was clearly how she'd made Taylor see a fire where he hadn't. But apparently it was more than making people _see_ things. Her power had something to do with making people _do_ things – even things that they didn't want to do.

Or, at least, that was what her power _had_ been. She was dead now, and good riddance. Terry clenched his teeth. He could feel his skin crawling the way it used to sometimes, before he'd gotten better control of his power. Before he'd learned how to keep the bones from randomly bursting through his skin. Most of the time, he could control it. But sometimes – when he had a particularly bad nightmare, or when he was especially agitated – he lost that sort of control.

Maybe that was a good thing now.

Terry took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. But it was getting harder. Taylor's knife seemed to be moving faster, as if she could tell that he was having a hard time focusing. Maybe she thought that would give her an advantage, but he knew better.

This wasn't going to be good for either of them.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

Things finally seemed to be going her way.

Taylor swung again, and Terry dodged, but his motions were growing slower. He was tiring, but she wasn't. She could do this all day; her body would simply keep healing itself. She could afford to wait, to wear him down. Even if it meant giving the other contestants exactly what they wanted. The other two who had run away were long gone. Even if she wanted to catch them now, she probably wouldn't. Not for quite a while.

And first she had to take care of Terry.

Taylor swung again, and, this time, finally managed to get close enough for her bone knife to slice into Terry's arm. She wanted to believe his story. She wanted to believe that he hadn't really meant to attack her, that the girl had been controlling him, that they could simply go back to working together. But even if it was true, how could they trust each other again after this? How could she work with him now without having to constantly look over her shoulder?

There was another option, of course. She could simply walk away. If she ran now, would he really chase her? Or would he let her go and be grateful that she hadn't stayed around to kill him? Surely he could tell that he was losing the fight. Leaving now would be the kind thing to do. The _human_ thing to do. They could part ways, head in opposite directions. Hope that they didn't find each other again.

But she swung again, because in the back of her mind, she knew that wasn't really an option. She couldn't afford to do the kind thing – the _human_ thing. Not now. This wasn't the time for humanity. This was the time for survival. In order for her to survive, Terry had to die. And if he was going to die, then maybe it was best for it to be now, at her hands. That way, she could be sure. She could be certain that he wouldn't find her again.

He couldn't find anyone if he was dead.

Suddenly, Terry's eyes grew wide, as if staring at something behind her. "Really?" Taylor scoffed. "You think that'll work?" But instead of charging at her hoping for a distraction, Terry turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Taylor lunged, but not quickly enough to catch him. Not yet. All she had to do was let him go…

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the smoke. A black column of smoke, rising in the distance behind her. Was that what Terry was afraid of? Or was it simply a good excuse to run from her and leave the fight behind him?

All she had to do was let him go…

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Part of him was still hoping that she would let him go.

Terry gasped for breath as he ran, finally mustering the courage to look behind him. Taylor was chasing after him, but not as quickly as he knew she could. Maybe she didn't really want to catch him. Or maybe she wanted to make sure that they got as far away from the smoke as they could _before_ she caught up to him. In any case, he had bought himself a little time.

But only a little. He could see a cliff in the distance. The end of the island. He could turn, of course, and keep running along the shore. But he couldn't keep running forever. They were already about as far from the smoke as they were going to get. If he was going to make a stand somewhere, here was as good a place as any.

He only had a moment to get ready. Terry took a deep breath, concentrating on his hand. Slowly, fragments of bone began to poke through the skin on his left hand, forming a protective layer. Almost a glove of sorts. He would have to hope it would be enough, because he would only get one chance.

Sure enough, Taylor wasn't even winded as she charged. She was expecting him to duck. To dodge. Instead, he stepped forward as she charged, catching the sharp edge of the bone-knife in his own hand. Bone against bone. He closed his hand, and the knife stayed firmly in his grip.

"Shit," Taylor hissed, trying to twist the knife out of his grip. She couldn't let go. It was her only weapon, and _she_ couldn't make more. He could. Terry tugged, but the knife didn't leave her grasp. Not even when his own bone-knife swung towards her. She caught his wrist in her free hand, gripping his arm tightly.

That was her mistake. The mistake he'd been waiting for. Terry threw himself forward, and the pair of them toppled to the ground. His skin was still crawling, the bones beneath the surface itching to break through. What would happen if they did? Would it kill her? Would it kill _him_? He'd never caused enough damage to bleed to death before, but he'd never really put his body under this sort of stress before, either. He wasn't entirely sure _what_ would happen if he lost control.

But now it was time to find out.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

Now she wished she'd let go when she had the chance.

Taylor held on tightly as she and Terry tumbled across the ground, rolling dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. She couldn't run away now. And she couldn't let go of her weapon. The pair of them were trapped, tumbling this way and that, each hoping to end up on top when they finally came to a stop.

Suddenly, she could feel something poking into her skin – a bone sticking out of Terry's arm where she'd grabbed it. The pointed end of a bone was digging into her hand. But that wasn't the only bone that was crunching its way through his skin. His arms and legs seemed to be bursting with smaller bones cracking their way through, making a terrible noise.

 _Wait._

The bones weren't the only thing making a noise, Taylor realized too late. The ground beneath their feet seemed to be cracking. Suddenly, there was a splash. Taylor looked up in time to see that the cliff was starting to crumble, creaking and splitting as parts of it began to topple into the sea below. "Terry!" she shouted, but he wasn't listening. Maybe he couldn't listen. He didn't seem to have any control over what was happening.

And neither did she. Terry was still clutching her tightly even as the ground started to crumble beneath them. She tried to roll away, but it was too late. They were falling. Falling towards the water below, with rocks tumbling after them. Still, Terry held onto her, and something stuck into her side. Some sort of bone, plunging deep inside her, growing even as they fell.

They hit the water with a terrible crack, and something struck her on the back. A rock – maybe a part of the cliff. Taylor managed one last deep gasp before sinking below the water, Terry still clinging to her. Taylor splashed and squirmed, trying desperately to wrench free of his grip. Didn't he understand that they were sinking?

Didn't he care if they died?

* * *

 **Terry Daudric, 16**

Maybe it was better if both of them died.

Terry clung to Taylor as hard as he could as the pair of them continued to sink. Maybe her body could heal itself from injury, but that didn't mean she could breathe underwater. Did it? He certainly couldn't. In a few moments, he would be dead – if not from the lack of air, then from the cold. The weather on the island had been cold, but the water was even worse. It was freezing, and he could already feel his arms and legs going numb. Maybe it was better this way. Better if they died together. Maybe it was better if neither of them won.

They certainly didn't deserve it.

Terry could feel the bones bursting through his skin, his body instinctively trying to save itself. Bone floated, after all. But rocks didn't, and there were too many rocks above them now, driving them towards the bottom of the sea. How deep was the water here? Would he hit the bottom before he drowned or froze to death?

Maybe it didn't matter. Everything was growing dark, but whether that was because of the cold or loss of blood or because he couldn't breathe or simply because they were too deep in the water for the sun to penetrate, he wasn't sure. In a moment, it would all be over. And maybe this was exactly what he deserved. Maybe this was what they _all_ deserved – mutants and humans alike.

Maybe it was even what he wanted.

* * *

 **Taylor Adams, 18**

Maybe this was exactly what he'd wanted.

Taylor could feel her lungs burning as she held her breath, struggling to wrench free of Terry's grip. But his hand was practically frozen around her wrist. Maybe it _was_ frozen. The water was certainly cold enough.

Water. That was something she hadn't thought of. Her body had always been able to heal itself before, but air was still something that she couldn't live without. Even if it took her longer to die in the water than it might take other people, she would eventually run out of time unless she could get to the surface.

And even if she could, what then? The cliff was crumbling above them. Would she be able to get back to the top? Maybe. But even if she did, what if the rest of the island was crumbling, as well? Maybe it was safer to stay in the water. But how long could she _stay_ in the water without freezing? She'd never really pushed the limits of the temperatures she could survive before. She hadn't really had any _reason_ to. She'd spent most of her life in Louisiana. She'd never been _this_ cold before.

None of that mattered, of course, if she couldn't get to the surface. Her lungs were already begging for air, and she was still sinking. Deeper. Deeper. How much longer before they would hit the bottom?

Suddenly, Terry's body went limp. Did that mean he was dead? Maybe. Maybe he was just unconscious. Either way, his grip didn't seem quite as tight as it had been before. Maybe she could…

Just as she managed to wrench free of his grasp, however, something struck her in the back. One of the rocks that had fallen from the cliff, forcing her downward. Landing on her as she finally hit the bottom. Pinning her to the bottom. _Shit._ The last of the air left her lungs as the rock pressed her against the seabed below. The water that took its place was cold. So cold.

With the last of her strength, she tried to wriggle free. To budge the rock even a little so that she could slip out. Maybe she could still make it. Maybe.

Maybe…

Everything was getting darker. Colder. Taylor clenched her fists as consciousness began to drift away. It wasn't fair. She had been so close.

She would never know just how close.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She just needed to bring them closer.

Penelope let out a deep breath as she sent out another current, focusing the energy on the edges of the island. The cliffs on the far side of the island. The rocks were already weaker there; all they needed was a little push, and they would start to crumble. Little by little, the island would break apart. But only a little at a time. Only enough to drive any other contestants who remained towards her.

There couldn't be many left. But there were certainly still _some_. If they were all gone – if she was the only one left – they would have told her. Wouldn't they?

Yes. Yes, they would have to. That was what they'd said, after all. They would come and retrieve the last survivor, once there was only one. Once she was the only one left.

Penelope smiled a little. It felt so certain now. So inevitable. Of course she would be the one to survive. She'd survived everything else, even when everyone around her hadn't. That was what she was – _who_ she was. She was a survivor. And she could make it through this, too. She just had to be patient.

She just had to let the others come to her.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

Had the girl been waiting for them to come to her?

Natasha and Ben exchanged a glance as they inched closer to the girl in the lava. Her eyes were still closed, but it was only a matter of time before she happened to open them. They needed a plan, but Ben didn't seem to have one. And _she_ certainly didn't. How were they supposed to attack someone who could withstand the amount of energy that was coming from a volcano? Did they really stand a chance in a fight?

Did anyone?

Maybe not. But there wasn't a choice. Not really. Eventually, they would have to face her. So it might as well be now, on their terms.

On their terms. Right. As if it was really their own choices that had led them here. For all they knew, the smoke coming from the volcano had been meant to draw them closer. For all she knew, the girl knew _exactly_ where they were. Maybe she was waiting for them to make the first move. Maybe she knew that it didn't matter _what_ they did. If a volcano couldn't hurt her, how could they hope to?

Slowly, silently, Natasha drew the knife from her pocket. The knife she had used to kill Cassidy. Maybe the girl could control a volcano, but she was still made of flesh and blood. She would still bleed if Natasha stabbed her. Wouldn't she? She certainly looked vulnerable enough. Human enough. She was one of the younger contestants – not more than twelve or thirteen years old. And she and Ben had been two of the oldest contestants on the island from the very beginning. If it weren't for the girl's powers…

Natasha shook the thought from her head. The whole reason they were here in the first place was _because_ of their powers. They couldn't start ignoring them now. She glanced over at Ben, who nodded a little.

Maybe he finally had a plan.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

He just hoped his plan was good enough.

Ben nodded to Natasha, then pointed at the knife in her hand. He made a circling motion with his other hand, hoping she would get the idea. He wanted her to float around behind the girl and … what? Stab her in the back? If she got the chance, that would be the ideal scenario. But would that even hurt the girl? If she could stand in the middle of a volcano and still be completely unharmed…

But being stabbed was different. Wasn't it? Maybe. Maybe not. Which was why the second part of his plan was to start cooling the lava around the girl's feet. It would be difficult from this distance, but the closer they got, the greater the risk that the girl would notice them. And right now, the best thing they had going for them was the element of surprise.

So he held out his hand towards the lava, crouching down, hoping that even if the girl opened her eyes, she might not notice him. There wasn't really anything else to do. There was nothing to hide behind. There was nowhere to run. Even if they'd wanted to run, they couldn't run for long. There couldn't be many other contestants left. Maybe the girl in front of them was even the last one.

And if that was the case, then maybe it was better if Natasha took the risk of getting closer first. That way, even if the plan failed – even if he couldn't manage to trap the girl in the lava, even if she ended up being able to defend herself against Natasha's attack – he could still run. Maybe it wasn't the most sporting option. It certainly wasn't the bravest one. But it might also be the option that would keep him alive.

And that was good enough for him.

* * *

 **Natasha Kuryakin, 22**

She would just have to hope that Ben's plan was good enough.

Natasha took a deep breath as she began to levitate a little higher. It felt silly to hold her breath, but the closer she got to the girl near the volcano, the faster her heart began to beat. Any little movement, any little sound, might distract the girl and alert her to their presence. And right now, the element of surprise was really all they had.

She hadn't noticed them yet, though. Hadn't noticed that Ben was slowly cooling the lava around her feet. He was clearly hoping that the lava might cool enough to trap the girl in place. And maybe it would. He'd been able to do it with water during training, after all. Cassidy had been able to manipulate the water around their feet even from a distance, and Ben had cooled it, trapping Isadore and Juliska's shoes in the ice.

That seemed like such a long time ago now. It had only been a few days, but it seemed like a lifetime since the five of them had been together. Training. Practicing. Almost having _fun_ , despite what they knew was coming.

No. No, they hadn't really known. They _couldn't_ have really known what was coming. Not really. Yes, they had known that people were going to die, but _knowing_ it couldn't really compare to actually living through it. Actually _killing_ people. She had killed Parker. She had killed Cassidy. And she was ready to kill again.

At least, that was what she kept trying to tell herself. That it would be just as easy to kill the little girl in front of her. But try as she might, she couldn't ignore the fact that this girl hadn't done anything to them. She hadn't even _tried_. Parker had been trying to manipulate them, persuade them not to fight. Cassidy had attacked _her._ Maybe it didn't really make a difference, in the end. Either way, the result was the same. Either way, someone was going to die.

But taking the initiative … this felt different. It almost felt _good_. They weren't reacting anymore. They weren't trying to figure out how to respond to a situation they'd been thrust into. Even when they'd been attacked at the lake, they hadn't really had any control over the situation. Now it was up to them to make the first move.

Or, rather, it was up to _her._ Natasha clenched her knife tightly as she floated closer and closer to the little girl. She looked much smaller now. Much younger. It wouldn't take much. Just a knife across her throat – the same way she had killed Parker. It would be easy.

Wouldn't it?

 _Don't get cocky._ Natasha held her breath as she slowly slid her knife closer and closer to the girl. This was it. There wasn't any going back. If this didn't work, she didn't really have a backup plan. Maybe Ben did. Maybe running and hoping that the girl was trapped in the lava _was_ his backup plan. But that wouldn't really help _her_ if the knife didn't do any good against the girl. Natasha gripped her knife tightly. Just a little closer…

Suddenly, the girl grabbed her wrist.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

The knife never reached her throat.

Penelope's eyes snapped open as the air around her trembled a little. Only a little. Just enough to alert her to the other girl's presence. The girl in front of her was floating a little off the ground, which explained why Penelope hadn't heard her approach. There was a knife in her hand, a knife that never found its target. Penelope's hand quickly closed around the other girl's wrist. "I'm sorry."

The girl's eyes were wide, her voice trembling a little. "For what?"

"This." She squeezed a little, and a surge of energy burst through the older girl's body. More than she'd intended. Maybe she'd absorbed more than she'd thought from the volcano. Maybe she'd simply miscalculated. Either way, there was a bright flash of light, and then nothing. Nothing but a deceptively gentle splattering sound as tiny droplets of blood and flesh landed all around. Penelope stared, silent, as the drops continued to rain down, some of them sizzling as they landed in the lava, others trickling against her skin. She shuddered as she took a step back.

Or, at least, she tried to take a step back. Penelope looked down, down at the lava around her feet, which had solidified back into rock. Just then, she saw the other boy – the boy who was running away as quickly as he could. Maybe the lava cooling had been his doing. Maybe he'd been trying to give himself a head start. Maybe he'd hoped that the girl would be able to kill her, as long as he could hold her in place.

But he wouldn't even be able to do that. Not for long. Penelope bent over and placed her hand on the rock, sending a wave of energy through it. The dried lava around her feet splintered, and she pulled herself free. Now it was only a matter of catching up to the boy.

He wouldn't be able to outrun her forever.

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

He wouldn't be able to outrun her forever.

Ben gasped for breath as he raced away from the volcano. Stupid. He had been so stupid. Both he and Natasha had been _idiots_ to think that taking on the other girl was a good idea. If she could withstand the energy coming out of the volcano, of course a _knife_ wasn't going to hurt her. Of course she would be able to simply vaporize anyone who was lucky enough to get close. Natasha had never stood a chance.

But what choice had they had? The other girl _had_ to die if he was going to make it off this island alive. Who else was going to kill her? For all he knew, she was the only other person left on the island. What if he was running away from the only other contestant left?

Ben clenched his fists tightly. He _had_ to run. There was nothing he could have done to save Natasha. He hadn't had time. And even if he'd had more time, what could he have done? He couldn't have stopped the little girl from killing her. Maybe he could have offered to go first – to try to get closer. The lava wouldn't have hurt him, after all. Maybe he could have taken Natasha's place.

But what good would that have done? That wouldn't have made a difference – except that _he_ would be dead, and Natasha would be running. Because surely she would have the sense to do the same thing. He was doing exactly what she would have done, in his position. What _anyone_ would have done in his position.

So why did it feel wrong?

 _Stop it._ There was no time for that now. No time to worry about whether he'd made the right choice. The smart choice. The choice that would keep him alive. Right now, he just had to keep running. Maybe if he got far enough away, he could buy himself enough time to come up with a better plan.

A better plan. Right. Because the last plan had worked out _so_ well. What good was any sort of plan against a mutant who could do what the little girl had done? Hell, maybe she could even kill him right now. Did she need physical contact? Maybe. Or maybe that had simply been the most efficient way to transfer that amount of energy. Maybe she was just playing with him. Letting him run, letting him think he had a chance, letting him think that he had succeeded in trapping her in that lava.

Or maybe he had. Maybe that had worked, at least. But even if he'd succeeded, that probably wouldn't hold her for long. Surely she could simply explode the hardened lava the way she had vaporized Natasha.

Ben blinked the tears from his eyes. Whether they were tears of anger, or fear, or simply because of the smoke from the volcano, even he wasn't sure. Maybe all of them at once. It didn't seem fair. Natasha had never had a chance.

But that was why she had gone first. Why he had suggested that _she_ be the one to try to attack the girl. He had known there was a chance – a chance that whoever attacked the girl wouldn't make it out alive. And he had been right. Natasha was dead. But he was still alive.

And, for now, that was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

They were still alive; that would have to be good enough for now.

Akil gasped for breath as he and Piper finally slowed down a little. It seemed like they had been running forever, but it couldn't have been more than … what? Twenty minutes? Thirty? Long enough for him to be exhausted, but not long enough to forget. Not long enough to wipe the memory from his mind. The memory of what he had done.

What _they_ had done. Both he and Piper had left Victoria to die, after all. But it had been his idea to use her to force the other two to fight each other. It had been his idea to sacrifice her life for theirs.

No. No, that wasn't quite right, either. It had been _her_ idea. It had been Victoria's decision to stay. He had simply taken advantage of her choice. He had made use of her power one last time.

And, apparently, it had worked. Or, at least, it had worked well enough. No one was following them. No one, at least, that he could see. No one Piper could see even when she glanced into the future. Maybe it was safe for them to slow down a little. Maybe it was safe for them to rest.

Safe. That was a joke. They would never be safe. Even if they somehow managed to survive – even if one of them made it out of the Games alive – they still wouldn't be safe. They would never be safe again. As long as the Games existed, no one was safe.

No. No, that wasn't quite right. As long as the Games existed, no _mutant_ was safe. The rest of humanity – the _normal_ people – they were perfectly fine. And as long as the MAAB got their way, the rest of the country would be completely oblivious to what was really going on. They would have no idea that the thirty of them had been instructed to fight to the death. They would believe that mutants were simply killers – no more, no less. That they were just acting on their own instincts.

And maybe they were – at least to some extent. After all, the three of them had attacked some of the other contestants who hadn't really posed a threat to them. The boy the first night had attacked Diana, yes, and the boy who had created the storm had tried to kill them. But other than that…

The little girl at the lake hadn't done anything to them, and Victoria had killed her. The boy who Piper had tricked and then stabbed had been trying to help her. And the other boy – the one who had run away – he certainly hadn't done anything to provoke Victoria. When the Games had begun, he'd imagined others doing the attacking. He'd been able to picture himself fighting to defend himself. But this … this was different.

Maybe he hadn't done much killing himself – not directly, at least. But he'd gone along with it. Piper's plan to stab the boy she had tricked into helping her had only worked because he'd been shielding the knife from the boy's sight. Victoria had only been able to talk the other two contestants into fighting each other because _he_ had projected the words into their minds – and then left her to die. Maybe he hadn't actually killed anyone … except Diana, but she would have died anyway. And she didn't seem to blame him for it, if her interaction with them was any indication. Still…

Akil stretched his arms a little as he and Piper stopped for a moment to rest. "Are you all right?" Piper asked, her voice shaky. Whether from exhaustion or from fear, he wasn't sure. Maybe some of both. He was certainly frightened, despite the fact that they'd escaped the most immediate danger. They were running away from the other contestants, yes, but that had meant running _towards_ the mountain. The mountain that Piper had said one of the contestants was trying to explode.

"No," Akil admitted. "No, I'm not all right. You?"

Piper shook her head. "No."

Maybe they never would be.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

Maybe they would never be all right.

Piper gripped Akil's good hand tightly as the pair of them started walking again. They weren't all right – neither of them. But they were still alive. Victoria was dead. Maybe the other two contestants were dead. And she and Akil were still alive.

It didn't really seem fair.

"It should have been me," Piper said quietly.

"What?"

"You could have left me instead of Victoria – as a distraction for the other two. Even if I'd tried to keep up with you, I wouldn't have been able to. Not like this." She brought her hand to her eyes, shaking her head. "But she ran out there, instead. She attacked that little boy. She distracted the other two. Why?"

"Maybe she figured she had a better chance of fighting them off," Akil offered.

Piper shook her head. Victoria had never had a chance – not against the two of them, not once they'd decided to attack. But she had fought, anyway. "She saved us. She was willing to _die_ for us."

"Maybe," Akil agreed. "So let's make sure it's worth it."

Piper swallowed hard. The only way Victoria's sacrifice would be 'worth it' would be if one of them made it out of the arena. If one of them survived. But if they hadn't even been able to stand their ground and face the two contestants who had killed Victoria, what chance did they have against anyone else?

What chance did _she_ have?

Piper loosened her grip on Akil's hand. That was what was bothering her, if she was being honest. She _didn't_ have a chance. Not in a real fight. Not against someone who could see. So it would have made sense to leave her behind. To sacrifice her own life rather than Victoria's. To make sure the two people who survived were the ones who would actually have a _chance_ at winning. The ones who would actually stand a chance in a fight. That would have been the smart thing to do, as far as the group was concerned. Maybe even the right thing. The _human_ thing.

But she had let Victoria die, instead. Because the truth was, she wanted to live. Even if her chances were slim. Even if she could tell herself – in theory – that she was going to die. She wasn't ready to accept it yet. She didn't _want_ to die.

And maybe Akil didn't want her to, either.

Or maybe … maybe he'd figured that _she_ would be the easier opponent to take out, if it came down to it. If it had come down to him and Victoria, Piper wasn't sure how that fight would have gone. But if it somehow came down to her and Akil…

She could see a little into the future. Maybe that gave her a little bit of an advantage. But she couldn't keep looking at the future every second of every day. Eventually, she would have to let her guard down. She would have to trust him. She was trusting him right _now_ – trusting that he wasn't leading her right off a cliff or something.

Piper's stomach churned a little. It had been a while since she'd looked. Quickly, she took a glance. Just a few seconds. Just enough to see that they were still heading towards the mountain – and that smoke was still rising from it. But they were still far enough away…

Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound behind them. Some sort of cracking. "Shit!" Akil's grip on her hand tightened. "Run!"

"What is it?" She could look, but…

"The ground is breaking! Run!"

She did. As fast as they could, the pair of them bolted forward, doing their best not to stumble over the rocks. Piper clung to Akil's hand tightly as he pulled her forward. It didn't make any sense. If someone was destroying the island, shouldn't the blast have come from the volcano? Why would the ground _behind_ them be crumbling?

It didn't make any sense.

* * *

 **Vincent Reid, 27  
** **Coach**

Maybe it made sense to try to drive the rest of them together.

Vincent couldn't take his eyes off the screen. Not that he had much of a reason to. Ever since they'd separated him from Maria and Ian, they hadn't really paid much attention to him. They probably figured there wasn't much that he could do.

And the worst part was, they were right. Cut off from the others, his power would have been useless even without his collar. He'd tried to sleep, but even when he'd managed it, he hadn't been able to find Diana. Maybe she didn't want to risk talking to him. But if there was going to be any sort of rescue mission, it would have to be soon. There were only four contestants left, and they were getting closer to each other.

Or, at least, Akil and Piper were getting closer to Ben. Penelope didn't seem to be in as much of a hurry. She was following Ben, but not as quickly as Vincent knew she could. And maybe that made sense. Maybe she was waiting to see how many of the others were left. Maybe she simply didn't want to use too much energy, or find herself too far away from the volcano. Or maybe she was hoping that destroying the island would be enough to finish the others off without any sort of risk to herself.

That seemed like the likeliest option. After all, she had nothing to lose by collapsing the cliffs on the edge of the island, as long as she made sure that she was the last one standing. And she seemed to be doing a pretty good job of destroying the island from the _other_ side. Driving Piper and Akil towards her.

Or, more accurately, towards _Ben_. If everyone kept moving in the same direction, the pair of them would reach Ben before they got to Penelope. How that would go, Vincent couldn't even venture a guess. Under other circumstances, he would have pegged Ben's power as being the more useful in a fight. But he was running _away_ from a fight.

Not that he could really blame Ben for that. He would have done the same thing. Hell, the sight of someone standing unharmed in a pool full of lava would probably have been enough to send him packing, certain that a fight wouldn't be worth the risk.

And he would have been right. The fight _hadn't_ been a good move. But what other choice had Ben and Natasha had? There were only a handful of contestants left, a fact that was surely becoming obvious to the ones who were still alive. There weren't many of them left now. The end of the Games was near.

And he couldn't help wondering if _anyone_ would survive it.

* * *

 _"And as frightening as it can be, that pain will make you stronger. If you allow yourself to feel it, embrace it, it will make you more powerful than you ever imagined. It's the greatest gift we have: to bear their pain without breaking. And it comes from the most human part of us."_


	34. Again

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Results of the Victor poll are up on the blog.

* * *

 **Again**

* * *

 **Francine Temple, 42  
** **March 22nd, 16:03 AKST**

She couldn't help wondering what her family would think when she saw them again.

Francine fastened her seatbelt as Anita and Judah piled into the helicopter with her. They didn't want to take any chances; they had to be there precisely when the Games ended. With the way the island was beginning to crumble, if they were even a little too late, they might not end up with a survivor at all. It wouldn't be long now. Everything was moving even faster than they'd expected when they'd decided to send the papers to speed the Games along.

That should have been a relief. The sooner the Games were over, after all, the sooner they could all go home, and the sooner she would be able to see her family again. Her husband. Her twin daughters, Jessie and Jane. But instead of relief, the thought of seeing them again only made her more anxious. What would they think about what she'd been doing for the past few weeks? Her husband knew some of what her job entailed, but the girls didn't know much. They only knew she was working on technology to help improve the Sentinels. They thought she was helping to keep them safe.

Francine gripped her seatbelt tightly. She had been _trying_ to keep people safe. That was the original intention behind the Sentinels, behind the collars, all of it. To protect both humans and mutants from the few mutants who wanted to use their powers in devastating ways, or who didn't have full control over their destructive abilities yet. She had never meant for them to be used like this. She had never wanted any of this to happen.

But it _was_ happening. And she hadn't done anything to stop it. Sure, she had voted against the Games, but that hadn't really meant anything in the long run. She had known even before the vote that she would probably be outnumbered. That the Games would go forward. But she had still held out hope that maybe the idea would blow up in the others' face. That maybe the mutants would refuse to fight, or at least that enough of them would refuse that they would be forced to end the Games early.

Instead, the Games were ending early for a very different reason. It was only the third day, and they had already been so successful that only four of the contestants were left. Four out of thirty. And at the rate the island was continuing to crumble around them, it wouldn't be four for long. Ben was running away from Penelope, and, yes, she didn't seem in any particular hurry to catch up with him, but it wouldn't be long before he ran into Piper and Akil, who were fleeing the collapsing shoreline behind them. They were running straight towards Penelope.

Maybe that was her plan. To stay put as long as she could and drive the others towards her. Did any of the others really stand a chance against her in a fight? One-on-one, she could probably handle any of the others. Piper's power was good for seeing what was coming, but wasn't particularly useful once it came down to an actual fight. Akil's power, too, was better for avoiding fights – for trying to persuade people _not_ to fight them – then as an actual weapon. And Ben … he'd had the chance to fight Penelope one-on-one, and he'd run, instead.

Francine glanced over at Anita, who shrugged. Ben was doing what anyone would have done. If she'd seen one of her friends blown to bits right in front of her, would she really have stayed and fought? Probably not, even if she knew it was really her only chance at survival. Sometimes instincts were just too strong to resist, and Penelope's destructive power would appear to the audience to be the perfect example of why the Games were necessary.

But it was all a lie. The only reason Penelope was fighting in the first place was because they had told her to. If they had simply placed thirty mutants on an island and told them to _survive_ , nothing of this sort would have happened. They wouldn't be fighting each other if they hadn't been told that only one of them could make it off the island alive.

Would they?

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

What would he do when she caught up to him?

Ben glanced behind him as he ran, every step becoming more and more painful. His ribs were throbbing, his lungs aching from the effort of breathing so hard in the cold air. It was even colder again now that he was farther away from the volcano, but that was a good thing, wasn't it? It meant that the girl wasn't too close behind him.

Or, at least, he hoped it did, because if she caught up with him, he was done for. He had thought that he and Natasha stood a chance of defeating her together, but she had blown Natasha to smithereens seemingly without much of a thought. Certainly without any hesitation. She had apologized, yes, but that apology was rather hollow in the face of what she'd done.

And yet … she was only doing what she had to in order to survive. Just like they were. Under normal circumstances, he and Natasha would never have thought of attacking a little girl. But these weren't normal circumstances. He and Natasha had only hesitated to attack because of her powers, not because they hadn't wanted to kill her. He couldn't really blame her for feeling the same.

Ben clenched his fists as he continued to run. That wasn't his problem right now. He didn't have to worry about whether or not he would have a problem with killing her. What he had to worry about was whether or not he would get the chance, or whether she would simply blow him to bits as she'd done to Natasha.

Ben blinked the tears from his eyes. Tears of pain, tears of grief, or maybe just tears of exhaustion. He was tired. _So_ tired. But he didn't dare stop. It wouldn't be long before the girl managed to free herself. She probably already had. How long would it take for her to catch up with him?

She should have by now. He wasn't running that fast. _Couldn't_ run that fast. Not for long. Not in his condition. So where was she? Was she toying with him, pretending to lag behind only to catch him when he finally had to slow down? Or was she trying to drive him towards something? Towards someone?

Then he heard it – in the distance in front of him. Some sort of cracking noise. Something was breaking, or maybe collapsing. Ben froze. Had she somehow circled around him? Maybe. If she could control the energy from an entire volcano, it wasn't much of a leap to assume that she could have somehow circled around him and ended up in front. She could be _anywhere._

Ben bent over, gasping for breath. If there was no way of knowing where she was, then there was no way of knowing which way he should run. So he might as well catch his breath while he could.

While he could. But how long would that be? The cracking noise in the distance was getting closer. It was only a matter of time before he would have to start moving again. But where? And what would be waiting for him when he got there?

Ben clenched his fists. He would have to wait to find out. Right now, he was too tired to move. Too tired to run. Too tired to do anything but wait for them to come to him – whoever they were. He needed a plan, but his mind was racing too fast. He was too scared to think. Too scared to do anything but wait for whatever was coming.

He had a feeling he wouldn't be waiting much longer.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

They couldn't keep running much longer.

Akil gripped Piper's hand, desperately trying to keep running as fast as he could, hoping that she would be able to keep up. Every now and then, she would trip, and he would have to stop, pulling her to her feet again, stumbling forward as the rocks continued to tumble to the ocean in the distance behind them. The whole island seemed to be crumbling apart, and they had no choice but to keep running.

But they couldn't keep running forever. Even if they didn't collapse from sheer exhaustion, eventually they would run out of places to run. The island was only … what? A few miles long? Five? Six? Even if they could run that far, what were they supposed to do when they got to the other end? And how could they know that it wasn't crumbling from that end, too?

Akil glanced over at Piper. She could tell, if she looked far enough into the future. But with so much going on around them, she wouldn't be able to see very far. Maybe a few seconds. And he could see farther than that with just his eyes. The ground in the distance looked stable enough.

For now. But for how long? If something – or some _one_ – was destroying the island, there wasn't much they could do to stop it. They didn't have any control over rocks, or water, or energy. He could make the island _look_ stable, perhaps, but that wouldn't change what was really happening. And Piper could see what was about to happen to the ground, but both of them were powerless to change that vision.

He'd never felt so helpless.

Piper squeezed his hand tightly, as if begging him not to leave her alone. Akil squeezed back. He had no intention of leaving her, but there wasn't exactly much he could do to _protect_ her, either. There wasn't anything he could do to stop the island from crumbling beneath their feet. If there was…

Would he even do anything about it? If he had the power to stop it, would he? The question was moot, really, but he couldn't help the feeling that, even if he could stop the island from tearing itself to bits, he wouldn't. Ever since landing on the island, he'd wanted nothing more than for the Games to end. And at least now, one way or another, they would be ending soon.

One way or another. Soon, he would either be safe, or he would be dead. Either Piper would be safe, or she would be dead. Or maybe they would both be dead. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad – dying alongside his friend.

His friend. Akil gripped Piper's hand tightly as the two of them kept running. Despite telling himself he shouldn't, he couldn't help thinking of them as friends. Piper. Victoria. Diana. But Victoria and Diana were dead now. And what were the chances that he or Piper would really be the one to make it off the island alive? And if they were all going to die, anyway, maybe there wasn't any harm in getting attached.

Maybe there wasn't any harm in seeing them as friends.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

Maybe there wasn't any harm in waiting.

Penelope slowed to a jog as the volcano faded farther and farther into the distance behind her. She was still following the boy who was running away, but not too closely. No need to expend too much energy. Now now. Not now when they were so close to the end. She couldn't afford to take any chances now. She couldn't afford to play recklessly, to assume that the boy who was running away from her was the only one left. If there was someone else left besides him, there was no telling what sort of powers she might have to face, or how much energy she might need in order to defeat them. She could afford to let him have a head start.

Besides, he wouldn't get very far. The cliffs on the other side of the island were still crumbling, if the wave of energy she'd sent that way was doing its work. At worst, he would have to stop and let her catch up; at best, the island breaking apart would drive him back towards her. It was better to be patient now. Now that the Games were almost over.

Almost over. Penelope couldn't help a smile at the thought. _These_ Games were almost over. She was almost safe. But once she was … then what? What was she supposed to do once there wasn't anyone else to fight? Once she was safe, what was she supposed to go back to? She didn't have anything waiting for her. Not anymore.

Penelope shook the thought from her head. That didn't matter. Not now. Once she won, once she was safe, _then_ she could worry about what came next. Maybe she didn't have a home to go back to, or a family, or whatever the rest of the contestants might have waiting for them if they survived. But that didn't make her life worth any less. That didn't make her any less determined to survive.

If anything, it gave her something more to fight for. Something more to _live_ for. The other contestants – they'd _had_ a chance to live a normal life. They'd experienced at least some of what a life with a family and friends had to offer. She'd only had a brief taste of it, and if she wanted more, she would have to survive. She would have to fight. She would have to kill.

But only a little longer.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She couldn't keep running much longer.

Piper clutched Akil's hand tightly as the pair of them kept running. She could hear the ground crumbling behind them, but she didn't dare look back. Every time she glanced into the future, it was only to look forward, to make sure that they weren't about to run straight into a trap. And, as far as she could tell, they weren't. But at this pace, she could only see a few seconds at a time, and even those were getting blurry. Maybe she was just tired. But it wasn't as if that was going to change any time soon.

Suddenly, her foot slipped on something, and she tumbled forward in the darkness. "Damn it," she muttered as Akil helped her to her feet. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Akil panted, gasping for breath himself. "Let's rest for a moment."

"Can we?"

"Not long. But we can't keep going like this forever."

He was right about that, at least. Piper clutched her chest as she bent over, trying to catch her breath, hoping there was no one else nearby. If there was, they would almost certainly hear the two of them, even if they couldn't see them. Wouldn't they?

Maybe. Or maybe the cracking sound of the island crumbling would mask their breathing for a little while. Not that it mattered. If there was someone nearby, they could probably _see_ her and Akil. And they probably would have attacked by now.

Unless they were too busy running, too. Maybe they were too concerned with saving their own lives to worry about killing anyone else. After all, she and Akil hadn't been looking for other contestants to kill as they ran. If they came across someone now, would they even bother trying to kill them? Or would they just run and hope for the best?

Piper straightened up a little, ready to keep moving. They couldn't keep running forever. Eventually, they would find someone – or someone else would find them. Whoever was destroying the island was probably still out there somewhere. It was only a matter of time before they came across each other.

And then what? What could she and Akil hope to do against someone powerful enough to destroy the entire island? What chance did they really have? And even if they _did_ somehow manage to kill the contestant responsible … then what? If they were the only ones left…

 _Stop it._ She couldn't think about that now. Not after everything that had happened. Diana was dead. Victoria was dead. If Akil died now…

But if he didn't … if he didn't die, then she would. In order for him to live, she would have to die. She would never see her family again. She would never go home again. In order for him to live, she would have to die here, on this island. Was she really ready to do that?

The noise was getting louder. Akil squeezed her hand gently. "We need to get moving. Can you…"

Piper nodded and, for a moment, she focused. For a moment, she could see. The volcano in the distance. The smoke rising from it. The rocks crumbling behind them. And in the distance…

The vision snapped suddenly, and Piper gave Akil's hand a tug, pulling him to the ground as she hissed two words.

"Someone's coming."

* * *

 **Ben Lyons, 19**

He had to start moving again.

Ben clutched his chest as he started walking again, away from the volcano. Moving hurt, but it was better than waiting. Better than standing in one spot, just waiting for someone to find him. It felt better to be doing _something_. To be going _somewhere_.

Going somewhere. He'd always liked to think that he was going somewhere. That he had something important ahead of him – just waiting for him in the distance. He'd thought, when he'd left for college, that he was on the road to something better. Something greater. If he'd known _this_ was what was waiting for him…

Then what? What could he have done to avoid it? Where could he have gone to escape the government's clutches? Maybe all of this was unavoidable. Inevitable. Maybe there was nothing he could have done, nothing _anyone_ could have done to stop this.

He wasn't sure if that was better or worse.

 _Just think._ He needed a plan. But he was all out of plans. Every plan he'd had had only made things worse. His plan for hiding at the lake had led to Juliska's death, and had led to them losing Isadore. His plan to let Cassidy and Natasha fight it out had left him with only one ally to fight the little girl at the volcano. And his plan to let Natasha kill the little girl had left him all alone.

Alone, but alive. As long as he was alive, he still had a chance. Maybe a slim chance, but a chance. And a chance was all he needed. All he'd ever needed. As long as he was alive, there was still hope.

Slowly, clutching his chest, he staggered forward. He'd thought before that he could hear some sort of sound in the distance. Some sort of cracking. But now he could see nothing. Nothing but rocks and snow as far as he could see. Maybe he could get away after all. Maybe…

He kept walking. One step. Then another. Suddenly, something was wrong. The rocks gave way beneath him, and he stepped into thin air. But that was wrong. He could still _see_ the ground. Or, at least, where it _looked_ like the ground was. But he was falling. Falling through where the ground should have been.

Then the illusion snapped. Or, at least, an illusion was what it must have been, because now he could see the rocks tumbling beneath his feet. He tried to step back, back onto solid ground, but it was too late. The ground beneath his feet was slipping. Something struck him in the back of the head. Something hard. "Wait!" he called – to whom, he wasn't sure. It wasn't as if anyone was going to save him.

Everyone who could have saved him was already gone.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

There was nothing they could do to save him.

Akil watched as the boy tumbled over the crumbling edge of the cliff, with dozens of rocks crashing down after him. On top of him. If he was lucky, one of the rocks would kill him before he made it to the bottom. Before he hit the water. If not, it probably wouldn't take him long to freeze to death.

Akil's stomach churned, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn't just nausea. "He's dead." Piper's voice was shaky, as if she was fighting the urge to throw up, too. "One of the rocks. So much blood…" She trailed off as he gave her hand a tug, pulling her in the other direction. Away from the edge. Away from the rocks.

Away from the boy he had killed.

Not directly. But he had hidden the cliff from the boy's sight. He'd projected an image of the island as it had been only a little while ago – whole and intact. The boy probably hadn't suspected there was anything wrong until he'd stepped out into thin air.

Which meant he probably wasn't the one who was causing the island to crumble. If he was, he wouldn't have been so careless. He would have known the edges of the island were falling down … wouldn't he?

Maybe. Maybe not. There was no way of knowing, really. No way to know whether there was anyone else left. Whether the boy had been the last one. Whether there was anyone left to fight or whether they were simply running for their lives, waiting to see who could survive the longest.

And if that was the case – if it _was_ just him and Piper, and they were the only ones left – then what? If the whole island crumbled beneath them, what would the MAAB do? Wait and see which one of them lasted longer in the water? Hope the two of them would turn on each other? Akil clutched Piper's hand tightly. As frightened as he was, he couldn't imagine himself turning on Piper – or Piper turning on him. They were all each other had now.

Except…

Piper still had a family. People who were waiting for her back home. She had them to think of, while he had … her. That was it. Diana. Victoria. They were gone. Piper was all he had left. If he lost her now, what would he do?

But what would he do if he didn't? If he wanted to live, she had to die. It was that simple. And it had seemed so much simpler before, at the start of the Games. He had thought that maybe their group would be able to split up, to part ways peacefully when the time came. But there was no splitting up now. Abandoning Piper meant she would die – that was certain. But it also meant that he would have no idea what was coming. If she hadn't warned him that the other boy was approaching, he might have seen them – might have seen the island crumbling behind them – before Akil had time to do anything about it.

She might very well have saved his life by alerting him. And he had probably saved her from falling to her death quite a few times now. Akil gasped for breath as the two of them kept running. If only both of them could survive…

But they couldn't. That wasn't how it worked. That wasn't what the MAAB had said. There would only be one survivor. A few days ago, he had been so certain that he wanted it to be him.

He wished he was as certain now.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She was even more certain now.

Penelope could hear the rumbling in the distance. The island was tearing itself to pieces. Any contestants who were left would be on their way towards her. And it wouldn't take them long. If the sounds in the distance were any indication, there wasn't much of the island left. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see it – the collapsing rocks in the distance. She could certainly feel the vibrations through the ground. So much energy, all at her disposal. All she had to do was wait and see who was coming.

If there _was_ anyone coming. What if they had all gotten caught in the landslide? What if the MAAB was just waiting for them to die somewhere, or waiting for the commotion to die down so that they could come and retrieve her? It wasn't as if they really had a way of letting her know that she was the only one left, after all – aside from coming to get her. And how were they planning on doing that? They had planes, certainly; that was how they'd arrived on the island. They probably had helicopters, too. But if they had any sense, they wouldn't try to _land_ on an island that was collapsing. If they decided to wait…

Then what? Could she stop the ground from crumbling long enough for them to retrieve her? Maybe. Or maybe she would just have to take her chances in the water for a while, if it turned out the entire island crumbled away before they arrived.

 _If_ she was the only one left.

Then she saw them. Two specks on the horizon, coming closer, just ahead of the crumbling coastline behind them. Penelope crouched as low as she could, but there wasn't exactly anything to hide behind. Not that it mattered. She wouldn't have to wait long. Just long enough to get a good look – to make sure that they were the only two coming. If there were more of them, after all, she didn't want to give herself away too soon.

But she also didn't want to let them get too close.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"We're getting too close."

Piper squeezed Akil's hand, trying to warn him. The girl up ahead – she was waiting for them. They were getting too close, too fast.

"Well, so is _that_ ," Akil insisted, and Piper didn't need her sight to know that he was pointing to the rocks behind them. There wasn't much of a choice now. They had to keep going, and they would just have to take their chances with the girl.

"Can't you make her see something?" Piper hissed, trying to keep her voice low. They were still a good distance away from the girl, but there was no telling what her powers might be, or if she would be able to hear them.

"I can try to hide us," Akil gasped out. "But you said it looked like she'd already seen us."

"She has. Can you make it look like we're running off in some other direction."

"I can try." Akil's voice was strained. He was probably as tired as she was. As it was, she could only see a second or two at a time before the vision snapped. How long would Akil be able to hold any sort of illusion?

"Not yet, then." Piper squeezed his hand. "Not until we get closer."

" _Closer_? You just said we were getting too close."

"We are. But we don't have a choice. Do you still have your knife?"

"Yes."

"We'll probably only get one shot at this."

"Yeah."

"Can you see her yet?"

"Yes. She definitely sees us."

"Okay. Ready?"

"No."

Piper couldn't help a smile. "Me, neither." She squeezed Akil's hand tightly one last time. "Let's go."

Then they both let go.

* * *

 **Akil Turell, 18**

They both let go.

Akil sprinted to the right, Piper to the left. Akil reached for his knife with his good hand, concentrating on the girl in the distance. His head was throbbing, and his hand was shaking. Would his illusion really be good enough to fool the girl?

He would just have to hope it was.

Akil gripped his knife, concentrating on the image he was trying to project: himself and Piper, still running towards the girl … but not fast enough. The rocks speeding up, devouring the pair of them. The girl simply stood there, watching, as if unsure. Or maybe simply waiting, relieved that she hadn't had to do anything in order to finish them off.

Then she looked at him.

 _Shit._ The plan had been for the two of them to run in opposite directions, circling around the girl while she was distracted. But she _wasn't_ distracted. Or, at least, she wasn't distracted enough. Akil gasped for breath, trying desperately to project an image of Piper beside him, hoping it would be enough. Enough for the girl to focus on him rather than looking around for Piper.

But Piper was still too far away to help. Even with the ability to glance a second or two into the future, lack of proper eyesight was slowing her down. Akil raced towards the girl, trying to keep her attention. _Keep watching me. Just keep watching me._

Then the girl knelt down, placing her hand on the ground. What was she doing? If she was the one who was making the island crumble, there wasn't exactly anything she could do to make _that_ worse. The whole island was collapsing; it was only a matter of minutes before it reached them.

Suddenly, he heard Piper's voice. "Jump! Jump now!"

But it was too late.

Even as he heard her voice, he felt the shock. Some sort of energy, perhaps transmitted through the ground. Maybe that was why she had told him to jump, he realized as he collapsed, dazed. Was this what being struck by lightning felt like? Maybe. All the illusions faded as his knees buckled beneath him. His body struck the ground hard, everything growing dim around him as another jolt surged through him.

He just hoped Piper was still alive.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

One of them was still alive.

Penelope glanced around quickly as the boy's body went limp. Where was the other one? There had been two of them, before the rocks had seemed to catch up with them. Then she'd seen them again – splitting up. Then the girl had appeared to be beside the boy, but only faintly. She had shouted, so she was still around somewhere. Was it possible the boy was still shielding him from her view? No. No, he was dead. She'd made sure of that.

Then she saw the girl, stumbling forward as if injured, or perhaps just dazed, or maybe in shock at the sight of her friend dead on the ground beside Penelope. An easy target. Maybe a little _too_ easy. Penelope bent down and pressed her hand to the ground, prepared to channel one more burst of energy towards the girl.

But nothing happened.

 _What?_

Something was wrong. Penelope concentrated, but she could already tell it wasn't going to work. She couldn't feel the energy flowing anymore. In fact, the only time she'd felt a lack of energy like this was…

When her collar was on. That was it. It had to be. But why would they turn her collar on? It didn't make any sense. Well, maybe it made _some_ sense that they would want to turn it on, but why _now_? If they didn't want her destroying the island, the best time to turn it on would have been a few hours ago, not right this moment. The only explanation for turning it on _now_ was that they didn't want her to win.

But why?

Penelope shook her head. She could worry about the 'why' later. Right now, all that mattered was that her powers weren't going to work. But that didn't mean she was defenseless. The boy at her feet had a knife in his hands. She had Monet's pocketknife in her pocket, where she'd decided to keep it just in case.

Just in case something like this happened.

Quickly, Penelope bent down and slid the knife out of the boy's hand. Monet's knife she kept in her pocket, just in case she needed it later. In case she needed an ace up her sleeve. But would she? The girl was still stumbling forward almost…

Almost _blindly._

Could she really get that lucky?

It didn't make any sense. If the MAAB didn't want her to win, why would they leave her with a blind girl as her only opponent? Didn't they realize that, even without her powers, she still had an edge? She had years of training. She was completely uninjured. What good did they think one blind, confused contestant was going to be against that?

 _Don't get too cocky._ She still had to be careful. There was no telling whether her opponent's collar was on. No telling what sort of powers she might be up against if the other girl still had full use of her abilities.

After all, what would be the point in turning on _both_ their collars?

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

What was the point in turning on _both_ their collars?

Piper clutched her knife tightly, swaying back and forth, trying to keep her balance as the ground rocked beneath her, listening for any sign of where the younger girl might be. But it was useless. The rocks collapsing behind her were making far too much noise for her to hear anything useful. With her collar on, there was no way of knowing where the other girl might be.

That was the only explanation, after all, for why she couldn't see anything in the future. And for why the other girl hadn't simply electrocuted her as she'd done to Akil. Tears came to Piper's eyes at the thought. She'd tried to warn him. But she hadn't been quick enough. If she'd only been a bit closer to him…

No. No, if she'd been a bit closer, she would have been dead, too. If not from the first wave of energy, then from the second. The only reason she was still alive was because their collars were on. Was the MAAB trying to give her a fighting chance? Maybe. But if that was their goal, why had they turned _her_ collar on, too? Didn't they realize that if she couldn't see anything, she was as good as dead?

 _Stop it._

She wasn't dead. Not yet. And she certainly wasn't going down without a fight. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. Piper slid her backpack off her back, grasping one of the straps and swinging it in front of her. Quickly. Once. Twice. She turned, hoping that maybe the girl had crept up behind her. Hoping that maybe if she hit her with her pack, that might give away her position. But she heard nothing. Maybe the girl was running. Maybe she didn't realize that she was facing a blind girl. Maybe—

Then she felt it. A sharp pain in her side. Piper couldn't help a scream as she swung her pack in the direction she assumed the blow had come from. Her bag hit something, but not enough to cause more than a muffled "oof" from her opponent. Piper swung again, and this time struck air as something dug into her back. Piper gripped her knife tightly and did the only thing she could do.

She fell backwards.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She hadn't been expecting the girl to fall.

Penelope didn't have time to roll out of the way as the girl toppled backwards. She should have expected that. It was an obvious move. Penelope gripped her knife tightly as she drew it out of the girl's back. The girl's elbow found her ribs, digging in hard as the pair of them tumbled. The girl's knife sliced across her arm – not deep, and more by pure chance than anything, but it still stung.

Penelope tried to wriggle out from under the girl, but the girl was older. Bigger. Penelope clenched her teeth. She'd never had to rely on physical strength before. Her power had always been enough. Now … now she was just a little girl, probably one of the smallest on the island. Certainly the smallest one left.

Assuming they _were_ the only two left.

The girl brought her knife down, and Penelope barely grabbed her wrist in time to avoid being stabbed in the chest. As it was, she was only able to divert the knife, and it plunged deep into her shoulder. Penelope squirmed, trying to reach the girl's neck with her own knife, but only managed a slice across the girl's upper arm before one of the older girl's hands found her throat. Penelope kicked as hard as she could, her bare foot finding the girl's stomach. The girl grunted, but she didn't let go. Her knife came down again, but Penelope rolled to the left a little, and the knife clattered harmlessly against the rocks below as Penelope's knife plunged into the girl's stomach.

Blood. She hadn't been expecting all the blood. The girl coughed, sputtered, losing what little balance she had. Penelope tried to roll out of the way, but, before she knew it, the girl's entire weight was on her. Something sharp dug into her side. Penelope stabbed upwards as hard as she could, even as the other girl's knife stabbed down.

Then she heard a noise.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She could hear something.

Piper drove her knife deeper into the younger girl's chest as the whirring grew louder. The other girl's knife struck her in the side, but it was obvious by now that she had the girl's arm pinned. She couldn't move it much. And she only seemed to have one weapon.

Suddenly, something sliced across her right arm. _Shit._ She must have been hiding another weapon somewhere. Maybe not even hiding; it wasn't as if she would have seen it. Piper couldn't help a scream as the knife slipped from her grip. Blood. Warm and wet and sticky, flowing down her arm where the girl had sliced. Where was her knife? It had to be nearby. Or maybe the girl had picked it up by now. She could still feel the girl's body beneath her, but her own limbs seemed to be moving so slowly, as if weighted down by something. Maybe by sheer exhaustion. How much longer could she hold on?

She had to hold on…

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12**

She just had to hold on a little longer.

Blood was flowing down the girl's arm. Penelope gripped her pocketknife, preparing to strike again, but, even as she did, something struck her in the head. The girl had picked up a rock. Penelope stabbed again, and this time her knife sliced into the girl's other arm – the only part she could reach without stretching too far and leaving herself vulnerable. The rock came down again, and this time, Penelope managed to dodge, moving her head to the left just in time. But she could still feel blood flowing from the wound where the girl had struck her. Everything was getting blurry. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate, especially with that noise.

What _was_ that noise?

It wasn't the rocks. They were still far enough away from the edge. No, it was something else. Something that seemed to be stirring up a wind.

Then she saw it. A helicopter. Penelope almost laughed as she kicked upwards, her knee finding the other girl's stomach. It was almost over. They had come to get her. They must have decided to land while it was still safe. While some of the island, at least, was still in tact.

Suddenly, the girl wasn't on top of her anymore. Penelope rolled to the side. They must have pulled the body off. But no. She could see the other girl. She was still breathing.

She was still _alive._

Penelope felt something wrapping around her shoulder. A bandage of some sort. "It's all right," a voice called over the roaring of the helicopter blades, the crumbling of the rocks, and the pounding in her head. "It's over."

Penelope shook her head, struggling to wriggle free. "No! No, let me go! It's not over! She's still alive!"

She was still alive.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

She was still alive.

Piper squirmed, struggling against the grip of … whoever was holding her. One of the MAAB, maybe. Certainly not another contestant. Why would another contestant have pulled her off of the other girl? "She's still alive," Piper gasped, flailing in the dark. "It's not over. She's still alive."

Piper felt a pinch in her arm. Maybe some sort of needle. "Yes," a woman's voice answered. "She's still alive. Now stop fighting and let me get you on the damn helicopter before the island explodes or something."

"But—"

"I said shut _up._ Unless you'd _like_ to stay."

No. No, she didn't want to stay. But she didn't understand. Piper shook her head as the voices seemed to fade into the distance. Hands lifted her, carried her towards the whirring of what she now realized was a helicopter. It didn't make any sense.

None of it made any sense.

* * *

 **Colonel Judah Burgess, 51**

None of them could relax yet.

Judah flipped a switch as the others piled into the back of the helicopter, securing Penelope and Piper as snugly as they could. It wasn't a long flight, but it would probably be a bumpy one. "Take off!" Anita called as she and Francine shut the door behind them.

 _Obviously._ "You do your job, and I'll do mine. My job is to fly this bird. All that blood back there is your job."

"So which one am I saving?"

"Both," Judah answered flatly.

He could practically see the look of confusion on her face without having to glance back. "Both. That was the second part of the deal we made with Diana. Two survivors. One to stay with us and help coach next year, maybe help whip the other three into shape, and one for … something else. Need-to-know."

"You didn't think I needed to know before this?"

"Nicholas didn't want you to feel guilty if it turned out you couldn't save both of them. But from the look of things—"

"Yeah, I can do it."

"Good." The helicopter's engine protested, but finally managed to lift off. Judah allowed himself a sigh of relief as they flew back towards their base on Hall Island.

"That's why you turned their collars on," Anita realized.

"Exactly," Francine confirmed. "A few more seconds, and we would've only had one survivor, and—"

"And I wouldn't have had much work to do," Anita finished. "Thanks for that. It's good to feel needed."

Judah shook his head, unsure whether she was joking or not. Maybe it didn't matter. He could put up with this for a little longer. He'd gotten what he wanted. They could deal with the rest later.

Everything was under control again.

* * *

 _"And as frightening as it can be, that pain will make you stronger. If you allow yourself to feel it, embrace it, it will make you more powerful than you ever imagined. It's the greatest gift we have: to bear their pain without breaking. And it comes from the most human part of us: hope … We need you to hope again."_


	35. Land of Tolerance

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own X-Men or The Hunger Games.

* * *

 **Land of Tolerance**

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **March 22nd, 22:19 AKST**

It was almost too perfect.

Nicholas shook his head as the last section of tape played again. "No, let me go!" Penelope insisted. "It's not over! She's still alive!" Mere feet away, Piper was echoing her words, insisting that the Games weren't over as long as someone else was still alive. To the audience, it would sound as if they _wanted_ to fight. As if they were practically _begging_ for the chance to kill each other, despite having badly wounded each other already.

Across the table, Mack clapped Alvin on the back. "Not a bad job with the cameras. A whole island collapsing, and you managed to keep them running and focused on the contestants. Good work."

"The tape cuts out soon after that," Alvin admitted. "The island's been completely destroyed. Nothing but some floating chunks in the ocean. We _did_ manage to retrieve a mother fox and her kits stranded on one of the larger sections before it sank. There's no way to know for certain whether it's the fox that Jayden befriended, but—"

"But as far as the audience is concerned, it is," Mack agreed. "Someone deserves to get a happy ending out of all this. What did you do with them?"

"They've been relocated to this island," Lillian answered. "We'll be leaving soon enough, I suspect."

"That was always the plan," Nicholas confirmed. "Even without a possible rescue attempt, it wouldn't be wise to use the same location for the Games every year. We'll head back to the mainland facility once our survivors are cleared to travel."

"That should be soon," Anita confirmed. "They're recovering as nicely as you'd expect. They both lost some blood, and Piper had a nasty stomach wound, but I patched them both up. Nothing I could do about Piper's eyes, though. Even if I wanted to try a transplant, the nerves are too badly damaged."

Nicholas nodded. He'd suspected as much. "Could be worse, though," Mack pointed out. "We held up our end of the bargain. Two survivors. Nobody said anything about what condition they would be in."

"And Diana's held up her end," Judah pointed out. "There's been no attack. Still, we probably won't want to stick around here any longer than necessary."

"All right. I can take a hint," Anita agreed. "I can have them ready to leave soon. I'd like to keep them overnight, but they should be ready to go by morning."

"Morning is fine," Nicholas assured her. "Any other business for tonight?"

"Just a lot of editing to do," Mack shrugged. "But that'll take time."

"We'll have time," Nicholas agreed. "Anything else that needs to be taken care of _tonight_?" The room fell silent. "Then get some sleep. We've all earned it. And Anita?"

"Yes?"

"Keep their collars on. We don't want any incidents on _this_ island, particularly not while we're on it."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then you're dismissed. I'll see you in the morning." He turned to Alvin and Judah as everyone else started to leave. "What do you think?"

Judah shrugged. "I think it's fairly obvious who's the better candidate and who's … more expendable. We need Penelope; I've said it all along. If we want these Games to eventually move beyond teenagers blindly running about and stumbling across each other, fumbling to come up with a coherent plan, hesitant to attack even when they have the opportunity … if we want something _more_ than that, we need a coach who knows what she's doing. A coach who will push them rather than coddle them. Penelope is the obvious choice; she always has been."

Nicholas turned to Alvin. "Your opinion?"

"I agree with Judah."

Judah raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

"Not at all. If that's the direction you'd like these Games to go, then you're absolutely right. Piper _survived_ , and she deserves credit for that, but she's not the cold-blooded soldier the audience needs to see if they're going to be convinced these Games are necessary. Penelope is the embodiment of every reason you want to give the public to fear mutants. We can't afford to lose her."

Nicholas nodded. "And Piper—"

"Is tougher than we thought," Alvin finished. "She can handle this. As long as we give her time to recover before we expect her to—"

"We can't give her too much time," Judah pointed out. "We need to move quickly, or we'll lose our window. Right now, we're fairly certain that whoever the coaches managed to contact through Diana will be looking for us in Alaska. We have a good chance now, but the longer we wait, the lower those chances. You're supposed to be a mathematician."

Alvin's face grew red. "You do realize our plan only succeeds if she _survives_."

"Not necessarily," Nicholas answered reluctantly. "Judah's right; we'll have to take the risk. I'm flying out to Massachusetts tonight."

Alvin shifted uncomfortably. "Mind if I tag along?"

"I need you here."

"Then can I ask a favor?"

"What do you need?"

"Make a short stop in Utah on the way. I promised … I told Jayden I'd get her dog back to her aunt. I don't want the mutt to get lost in the shuffle."

"That's all?"

"It's a little thing, but—"

"I'll deliver him myself," Nicholas assured him. "Anything else?"

"Nothing I haven't said before. And I'm afraid we're too far down this rabbit hole for anything I say now to make a bit of difference."

Nicholas sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was too late at night for Alvin's predictions. "Good night, then."

"Good night." Alvin was still shaking his head as he left.

Judah shrugged. "He'll come around. Negotiating with Diana was his idea in the first place. He had to realize something like this was a possibility."

"I'm sure he did," Nicholas agreed. "Doesn't mean he has to like it."

"He doesn't like _any_ of this," Judah pointed out. "He still does his job. That's good enough for me."

Nicholas nodded. Maybe it was.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12  
** **March 23rd, 10:03 AKST**

Maybe it made sense after all.

Penelope opened her eyes, blinking a little in the bright light. But not sunlight. They weren't on the island anymore. Probably the island didn't even _exist_ anymore.

Good riddance.

"Good morning." Penelope immediately glanced towards the voice. It belonged to a woman – a woman she hadn't seen before. She wasn't one of the MAAB, but she was clearly working for them. A doctor, perhaps. That would make sense. The woman smiled a little, her warm brown eyes almost … almost familiar. "You probably have questions."

 _Too many._ "Where are we?"

"Back at the base where you stayed before the Games," the doctor answered. "We moved you here this morning."

"How long has it been?"

"Since the end of the Games? Less than twenty-four hours. It's March 23rd. About ten o' clock in the morning."

March 23rd. Penelope closed her eyes. They had only spent a few days on the island. It had barely been more than a week since the Sentinels had brought her here. And in that time, twenty-eight of the contestants – twenty-eight of her fellow _mutants_ – had died.

But not twenty- _nine_. They had lied. "How's the other girl?"

"She'll make it," the doctor answered vaguely. _No thanks to you._ She didn't say the words, but they lingered in the air, unspoken. Twenty-eight contestants were dead – four by her hand. It would have been five if the MAAB hadn't stepped in and turned her collar on. There was no doubt in her mind that she could have killed the other girl. Even without her powers, she hadn't been doing too badly, and had probably given worse than she'd gotten. But they'd broken up the fight before she could finish the other girl off. Why?

"Why two of us?" Penelope asked, opening her eyes again. "They said at the start of the Games that there would only be one survivor."

The doctor shrugged. "They said a lot of things, I'm sure. Plans change. I hope you're not too disappointed."

Disappointed. Penelope looked away. No, disappointed wasn't the right word. She wasn't disappointed that someone else had survived, that something had happened to convince the MAAB to allow two of them to escape the island alive. She was just sorry that she hadn't known sooner. If she had…

Then what? Maybe she wouldn't have killed Monet, but that wasn't to say that no one else would have. Things might have turned out exactly the way they had. And even if they wouldn't have, there was no point in dwelling on that now. No point in wondering what _might_ have happened, if only she had known. She hadn't known. What had happened was done, and there was nothing she could do to change that now.

All she could do now was move on, just like she had always done. "So what happens now?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely sure what the others have planned," the doctor admitted. "I heard that Nicholas was headed to Massachusetts to fetch the other girl's family, but you…"

"Don't have any," Penelope finished. There was no point in pretending otherwise. There would be no happy reunions, no one who would be overjoyed to see her come home alive. Home. As if she would be allowed to go home, even if she had one. If they were bringing the other girl's family here…

Penelope leaned back and closed her eyes. Maybe it didn't matter right now. Right now, she was tired. She needed rest. She wasn't used to that. Her collar was still on, which made sense. They probably didn't want to take the risk that she would try anything stupid. But she was too tired now to try anything, even if she'd wanted to. Too tired to do anything but wait.

She would just have to be patient.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17  
** **March 23rd, 11:42 AKST**

Everything was still pitch black.

Piper took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She was alive. That was all that mattered. But there was a part of her that had been hoping…

What? That she would be able to see again? Piper swallowed hard against the lump that was forming in her throat. _You're alive._ She ran her hand along the edge of the bed, searching for the source of the faint humming off to her right. Probably a monitor of some sort. Piper tried to sit up a little, but even that effort sent her head spinning again. Throbbing. But not as bad as the pain in her stomach. Probably where the other girl had stabbed her.

The other girl. What had happened to her? Was she still alive? Why had the MAAB stopped the fight?

Piper leaned back against the pillow behind her. She was too tired to care right now. Every muscle in her body seemed to ache. She could barely move.

But she was _alive._

She was really alive. She had survived. Piper tried to smile. She hadn't really expected that. From the beginning, she had _wanted_ to make it out alive. She had wanted to live. But she hadn't really expected to last long in a fight against so many other mutants whose powers were … well, more _powerful._ Mutants who could summon storms and destroy islands and kill people by sending a current of energy through the ground. Thirty mutants on the island, and _she_ was still alive.

But the others… Akil. Victoria. Diana. Her friends were dead, and she was still alive. She'd known from the start that it would have to happen. That they would have to die if she wanted to live. But that didn't make it any easier. That didn't change what she had done.

She had let them die. And she had killed. She had killed two contestants. Two people. Two _kids_. And she had gone along with the deaths of others. Piper closed her eyes, breathing as deeply as she could. She was alive. But at what cost?

Suddenly, a door creaked. Piper tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down on the bed. "Hello?" Her voice was weak and shaky. "Who's there?"

"Try not to talk too much," came a voice. "Save your strength. You're going to need it."

"For what?" She'd survived their game. What more did they want from her?

"I'm sorry." The voice was soft. Almost apologetic. "I really am. But there's a reason we let two of you survive. We needed one survivor to stay and help coach next year's contestants, and a second one for … something unofficial."

"Unofficial." She let the word sink in. "I'm not going home, am I."

"No."

"My parents…"

"Are on their way here by now. They know you're alive. But Piper … they're the only ones. The only ones who will know. Officially, Penelope survived the Games, and despite our most heroic efforts, your injuries were too severe. The rest of the world will think that you died on the helicopter."

"Why?"

"That's enough questions for now. Get some rest."

Piper sat up a little, fighting the dizziness that struck her almost immediately. "What are you planning to do to me?"

"I'm sorry." The voice was farther away now. Was he leaving her? Piper clenched her fists tightly, climbing out of bed. But the bed was higher than she'd thought, and she tumbled to the floor. Something tumbled down on top of her. "Damn it," the voice muttered. Footsteps came closer to her, and lifted something off her.

Piper gasped for breath as a pair of hands helped her to her feet. "What was that?"

"Just your IV bag. Try to be a bit more careful."

"Not my fault I can't see," Piper mumbled.

"I suppose not." He helped her back into her bed. "Look, if I turn your collar off so you can get a good look around, do you promise not to try anything stupid?"

"Like what?" What did he think she was going to do?

"Fair point." Silence for a moment. "A little experiment, if I may? Once I turn your collar off, look into the future as far as you can."

"Why?"

"Just curious. I want to see if your time's improved since the start of the Games."

No. No, that wasn't it. Something else was going on. There was a soft click as her collar turned off, and Piper concentrated.

She could see him. Alvin. Almost immediately, he placed a hand over her mouth. "Okay. Now shut up and listen. I tried to buy you more time, but no one listened to me. As usual. Once your parents arrive, the three of you are going to be released. Which probably sounds great. Trouble is, they're planning to release you into the Alaskan wilderness. They're hoping that you'll last long enough to be picked up by the mutants that Diana is in contact with, and that they'll be able to use you to track them back to wherever they're hiding. Not a bad plan. In fact, I'm the one who suggested it. But they're counting on you staying in roughly the same spot. So here's what you need to do. Once you're free, you take your parents, and you head east. As far as you can, as quickly as you can. Got that?"

He removed his hand. Piper opened her mouth to object, but he shook his head. "East."

"East," she agreed. "Then what?"

"You'll know what to do." He shook his head. "Now, break the vision, and tell me that you're not interested in being my guinea pig. If I've timed this right, this is about as long as you can hold on any—"

Before he could finish the sentence, the vision snapped. Piper's hand flew forward, connecting with his cheek. "I don't want to be your guinea pig!"

"Fine," Alvin muttered, and her collar clicked back on. _Great._ The door closed behind him, and Piper collapsed back onto her pillow.

What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

 **Ian Viera, 22  
** **March 23rd, 12:37 AKST**

What were they supposed to do now?

Ian paced back and forth as Maria and Vincent sat silently, watching. It had been hours since they'd flown back to the mainland, and still no one had told them anything. The Games were over, but no one had bothered to tell them what they were supposed to do next. The whole reason they had been taken, after all, was to serve as coaches for the Games. Now that the Games were over…

Finally, the door creaked open, revealing Alvin with a plateful of sandwiches. "Thought you might want some lunch."

Ian shook his head, taking one of the sandwiches. "Lunch is good. Answers are better."

Alvin shrugged. "Answers require questions."

"Why are we back here?"

"We didn't think it was a good idea to stay on the island too long. No one was sure what the other island collapsing might do for the stability of the smaller island. This seemed like a better place to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For everything to be ready. Once we're ready to leave, we'll head back to … you know, I'm not actually sure where Nicholas is planning on setting up camp next. And it would probably be better not to tell you even if I did know."

"Touche." Maybe he was worried that they would tell Diana, and that Diana would tell Erik. But the benefit of a rescue mission had plummeted once the Games were already over. Now there were only the three of them, and…

"How are Penelope and Piper?" Maria asked.

"Alive," Alvin answered vaguely. "You'll have plenty of time to see Penelope soon enough. She'll be joining you to coach next year's Games, so I imagine the four of you will have a lot to talk about."

"The four of us," Ian repeated. "What about Piper?"

"She's fine," Alvin assured them. "But we have something else planned for her. There was a general consensus that Penelope would make a better public survivor. She's the sort of mutant we want the world to see."

"The sort you want the world to _fear_ ," Vincent corrected.

"That's fair," Alvin agreed. "We were honest from the start about the purpose of the Games, and Penelope serves that purpose perfectly. Piper will be of use, too, of course – just in a different context."

Maria shook her head. "She'll be of use? Haven't you gotten enough use out of them already? Haven't you taken enough from them? Just let them _be_."

Alvin sighed. "And do what? Let her go back home and tell her story? Let her put the word out there that they only fought to the death because we _told_ them to? And what would you have us do with Penelope? She has no family. Nowhere to go back to. You think the public would stand for it if we simply let her loose in the world?"

No. Of course not. Ian clenched his fists, but he held his tongue. They'd known from the start, even if they hadn't want to admit it to themselves. There had never been any chance that the survivors would be going home again.

And neither would they.

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60  
** **March 23rd, 23:47 AKST**

He still didn't like it.

Alvin shook his head as the plane landed. Nicholas quickly stepped off the plane, followed by a man and woman who could only be Piper's parents. Alvin braced himself. He wasn't sure how much Nicholas had told them, but apparently it was enough for them to be worried. That didn't say much, of course. They'd probably been worried sick ever since the Sentinels had taken Piper. And now things were about to get even worse.

 _Stop it._ Their daughter was alive. That was better news than twenty-eight families were going to be getting. There would be a few bumps, a few rough patches, but at least she was _alive._ And they would be together.

 _Keep telling yourself that._

The couple followed Nicholas towards the building, and Alvin let them come. No need to go out in the cold to meet them. Nicholas nodded crisply as the three of them arrived. "Alvin. Is everything ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." He turned to Piper's parents. "You must be Frank and—" What was the woman's name? He'd looked at the file a few hours ago. Maybe it started with a c? "Charlotte?"

"Chantelle," the woman corrected. _Close enough._ "Where's Piper?"

"Follow me," Alvin instructed. "But I should warn you, she's … not in the best condition."

"That's what _he_ said." Frank gestured to Nicholas. "But he wouldn't tell us what happened. What did you do to her? Was there some sort of accident?"

"That's … one way of putting it." No. No, it wasn't. It hadn't been an accident at all. But that was how they were supposed to paint the Games. As an accident. A mistake. The unintended consequence of setting mutants free on an island together. Alvin hesitated as he stopped by the door to Piper's room. "She's inside."

Immediately, the two of them rushed in. Alvin lingered outside with Nicholas, watching. It was almost predictable. The confusion, the horror, the anger, the relief that their daughter was alive, the rage at the people who would dare do this sort of thing to her. He didn't need to hear the conversation to know that the two of them would spend the rest of their lives despising him and Nicholas and the rest of the MAAB.

And they probably deserved it.

Alvin glanced at Nicholas, who nodded and closed the door to the room. Locked it. Nodded to Anita, who was waiting for his signal down the hall. Slowly, gas began to trickle into the room. Not enough to harm them. Just enough for them to pass out. They probably wouldn't even remember smelling it. They would just fall asleep.

It would be hours before they woke up.

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17  
** **March 24th, 05:43 AKST**

She didn't even remember falling asleep.

Piper gasped for breath in the chilly air as she came to. What had happened? The last thing she remembered was trying to explain to her parents what had happened. What she had done. What she had been _forced_ to do. She didn't remember falling asleep, but she must have. Where was she now? It was colder, and she could feel something beneath her. Snow? Piper ran her hand along the ground. It _was_ snow. She was outside.

 _Shit._ When Alvin had said the others were planning to release them in the wilderness, she hadn't realized he'd meant _immediately._ She had assumed – incorrectly, it was obvious now – that they would give her time. Time to recover. Time to heal. Her stomach was still throbbing with pain, although it seemed a little duller now. Maybe they had given her something to numb the pain. Maybe she was simply too cold to notice.

 _Just think._ Alvin had said that they were planning to release her parents along with her. They were obviously here somewhere. The MAAB wouldn't have gone through the trouble of bringing them all the way to Alaska to reunite them if they were just planning to separate them now. "Mom? Dad?" Piper asked, her voice thin and a little hoarse. There was no response. "Mom?" she called a little louder. "Dad?"

"Piper!" Her father's voice, coming from a little ways away. "Piper, are you all right?"

"I … I think so." She was still alive, at least. That was something. And, from what Alvin had said, the MAAB wasn't trying to _kill_ her. They just didn't particularly care whether or not she died, as long as they accomplished their goal. "Where are you? I…"

"We're right here." Her mother's voice, right beside her now. She could feel their arms around her, holding her tight. "It's all right. It'll be all right."

"Where are we?"

"Your guess is as good as ours," her father admitted. "Better, maybe. It's cold, and there's snow, but there's really not much else."

"Except a couple backpacks," her mother offered. "I was going to open them, but what if they're … I don't know … booby-trapped or something?"

Piper shook her head. "If they wanted us dead, they would have killed us by now."

"You said they _did_ kill the others," her father pointed out. "Or made them kill each other. Made _you_ kill each other."

He had a point. But maybe there was something in the backpacks that could help them. "I can open them if you like," Piper offered. That would do the trick.

"No, I'll do it," her father insisted immediately. There was a moment of silence, and then a relieved sigh. "It's food. Enough for a few days, at least. And three blankets. What the hell is going on?"

"Maybe it's another test," Piper suggested. "Maybe we have to find our own way back to … somewhere. Civilization." East. Alvin had said to head east. But could she really trust him? Was he really trying to lead her where he said, or was he hoping that if he could steer her off track, no one would find her?

Piper ran her hand along her collar. A quick attempt to glance into the future was enough to tell her it was still active. Her power wasn't going to be any use. But she hadn't made it through the Games simply because of her power. She'd survived because of Akil, because of Victoria, because of Diana. She hadn't survived the Games alone, and she wouldn't have to make it through this alone. Piper shook her head. "I think we should head east."

"Do you think that's the direction they brought us from?" her mother asked.

"No. No, I don't think we want to go back there," Piper reasoned. "But before they took us to the island, we were at a … a facility somewhere on the mainland of Alaska. I'm guessing we're still pretty close by. I remember one of them saying that the nearest town was east when they sent someone to get supplies."

For a moment, there was silence. Piper held her breath. She hated lying to her parents, but she didn't dare tell them why she really wanted to go east. For all she knew, the MAAB was still watching. Maybe they could listen in through her collar. If Alvin was telling the truth, after all, they were tracking her. Hoping that she would lead them to … who? Alvin had said something about Diana being in contact with some other mutants. But who were they?

Maybe she should ask Diana. But if she fell asleep now … no. No, it was better to keep moving. "East it is, then," her father agreed, helping her to her feet. Piper couldn't hide a gasp of pain, and, almost immediately, her father's arms were around her. "Are you all right?"

"It's my stomach. Still healing. If I'd had a little more time…"

But she hadn't had time to recover. They'd made sure of that. Maybe it was their way of ensuring that the other mutants had to come to _her_ , rather than the other way around. Maybe they just wanted to get on with the plan as quickly as possible.

But they'd made a mistake. They hadn't been counting on her family. Piper felt her father's arms lifting her, carrying her in a direction she could only assume was east.

She could only _hope_ it was east.

* * *

 **Nicholas Wright, 63  
** **March 24th, 14:52 AKST**

They were still heading east.

Nicholas shook his head as he watched the blip on the screen. "Diana must have told her something," Judah mumbled. "How else would she know which way to go?"

Alvin shrugged. "She may just be guessing. She knows she's in Alaska, after all. If you head north, south, or west long enough, you hit the ocean. Head east, and you hit Canada. I know which direction I'd pick."

"How long before they reach the border?" Nicholas asked.

Judah shook his head. "At this pace? At least a few more days. They're making good time, considering how injured Piper is. But there's still plenty of time. Chances are, whoever Diana is talking to won't want to take the risk of them dying in the wilderness before reaching the border."

" _If_ they figure out where she is," Nicholas pointed out. "If they couldn't find us, why do you think they're going to be able to find her?"

Judah shrugged. "Because Alvin told Ian where we were dumping Piper."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Intentionally?"

Alvin nodded. "Mind you, I tried to make it _sound_ like it wasn't intentional. I'm pretty sure they believed me. The fact that I voted against the Games earns me a bit of trust, at least. Not that they'll ever trust me again if this goes our way."

"If this goes _anyone's_ way," Judah pointed out. "If they can't find her – or if they figure out that we're trying to lure them into a trap – then there's a chance that they'll just leave her to die out there. We have no idea who we're dealing with. Assuming that we're dealing with _anyone_ and Diana hasn't been making this whole thing up in order to exert some leverage."

Nicholas nodded. It was a good point. But there was nothing they could really do about it – not until something had happened, one way or another.

For now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12  
** **March 25th, 12:39 AKST**

She was tired of waiting.

Penelope sat up a little as the door opened, and the doctor entered again. She'd been the only person Penelope had seen since waking up, and she was starting to become anxious for any other company. Anita was pleasant enough, but she seemed more interested in how Penelope was doing physically than in whatever was going to happen next. And she _wanted_ to know what was going to happen next. What the others were planning to do with her.

But she knew better than to ask. Better than to press her luck. Not yet. For now, the best course of action was to take as much time as the doctor thought she needed in order to recover. Her collar was still on, after all, which didn't leave her in much of a position to demand to be told anything. Soon enough, someone would tell her something.

"Getting a bit restless?" Anita asked with a smile.

"Not much to do in here," Penelope admitted.

"Thought that might be a nice change of pace," Anita suggested. "After three days of … well, what happened."

Maybe that was true. Maybe she was just trying to be kind. But there was no point in sugar-coating what she would eventually have to learn – what the MAAB planned to do with her now that the Games were over. "Waiting isn't really much better," Penelope pointed out. "Would you want to just sit around and wait if you were in my position?"

"No," Anita answered, more quickly than Penelope had been expecting. "Which is why I suggested to the others that you might be ready to be up and about."

 _Up and about_. She made it sound like she would be free to go wherever she pleased, do whatever she liked. "And where do you suggest I go while _up and about_?"

"I figured visiting the other coaches might be a good place to start," Anita offered.

The _other_ coaches. "Is that what's going to happen now? You're planning to make me one of the coaches for next time?"

"I believe that's part of what they have planned," Anita agreed. "To be frank, I'd say you're probably a bit more qualified than the three they've got now. Any of next year's contestants would be lucky to have you."

Next year's contestants. So they were already planning for the next Games. They were that confident that this year's Games had been successful.

And why not? If the purpose of their Games had been to give the public a reason to fear mutants, they certainly had plenty of ammunition now. Footage of her destroying the island would probably be enough to garner whatever support they still needed, to say nothing of the people she'd killed. Penelope shook her head. "Can I see them?"

Anita nodded. "Follow me."

She led Penelope down the hall and into a small room. Ian, Maria, and Vincent stood up immediately as the door creaked open, but all three visibly relaxed when they saw who it was. Maria took few steps closer. "Penelope. It's good to see you."

"You, too." It was good to see another mutant. Well, another mutant who wasn't trying to _kill_ her. "I'm glad you're still okay."

"And you. They told us you and Piper were still alive, but it's good to actually _see_ you."

"And Piper? Where's she?"

Ian shook his head. "Not here. They took her somewhere else, along with her family. I don't think … I don't think they'll be coming back."

What? That didn't make any sense. Why would they let two contestants survive if they were going to send one of them off somewhere else? "Do you know where they took her?"

"Somewhere else in Alaska," Vincent offered. "But I don't think the plan is for any of us to stay here for long. They haven't really said where we're going, though."

"Somewhere safe," Anita assured them. "Somewhere where they'll be able to keep an eye on you, and where you can help them plan for next time."

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Help them?"

"Yeah. Sounds like they wanted your input on how to make things … a bit smoother, and maybe a bit safer next time."

Vincent smirked. "Well, they could start by not picking an island."

"And not picking anyone with the ability to completely _destroy_ an island," Ian added.

Anita smiled a little. "I'll pass that along."

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17  
** **March 27th, 07:42 AKST**

She wasn't even sure how much time had passed.

Piper huddled a little closer to her parents as they stopped to rest for a little while. But only for a little while. It was better to keep moving. If they stopped for too long, they might not want to start again. It had been hard enough to start walking again last time…

But they had to. If they stayed in one place … then what? Wasn't that what people were supposed to do when they were lost in the wilderness? Wasn't there a better chance of being spotted if they stayed put? Maybe. Maybe, under normal circumstances. But these weren't normal circumstances. After all, there were already people who knew exactly where they were, and were simply choosing not to help. The MAAB could swoop in and save them at any time if they came too close to being killed.

But _would_ they? Would they really step in to save her, if something happened? They certainly hadn't hesitated to let twenty-eight other mutants die. What made her any different? Sure, she had survived their little Game, but that didn't mean she was worth anything to them. She was just bait. Bait for … someone. A group of people, from what Alvin had said. But how would _they_ be able to find her? And what made Alvin think they would risk getting caught by the MAAB in order to save her?

"I think … I think I see something." Her mother's voice was quiet.

"What sort of something?" Piper asked. So far, they hadn't run into much of anything – good or bad. No people, no sign of any life … but also nothing that seemed interested in attacking them. No wolves or foxes or bears or … whatever else lived in Alaska. If they were even _in_ Alaska. That had just been her best guess. They could be anywhere.

"Some sort of … post? A marker of sorts, maybe? It's not light enough to see much at this distance. I can take a look if—"

"We can all go look," Piper suggested. If it was something dangerous, she didn't want her mother to risk her life alone. And since she couldn't exactly look into the future to see what it was, they were stuck investigating the old-fashioned way.

Her father helped her to her feet, and the three of them stumbled forward. Slowly. So slowly. It seemed to be getting colder. Or maybe it was just the wind. Piper gripped her father's hand, wishing for one of Akil's fires. Even an imaginary one would be better than the freezing cold right now.

"It _is_ a marker," her father confirmed. "A mile marker, maybe? I think … I think this is the border."

Suddenly, another voice broke through the darkness. "Step across! Now! They're coming!"

Across? Across what? But before she could ask, a pair of hands reached out and dragged her forward. Something pushed her to the ground. "Stay down," a voice hissed, as if there was really any way they would be able to hide. From what her parents had said, the only thing in the area was a post. Some sort of marker. Marking a border.

 _Oh._ She put it together as one of the new arrivals chuckled a little.

"Welcome to Canada."

* * *

 **Frank Galligan, 45**

"Welcome to Canada."

Frank almost burst out laughing. The three men in front of them were dressed like Mounties. The red uniforms. The hats. But what were they doing out here, on some random strip of the border? It was too much of a coincidence. Maybe it was the cold or the lack of sleep or the craziness of the last few days, but it was almost funny. Almost.

It probably _would_ have been funny if it weren't for the Sentinels in the distance. At least three of them, approaching from the opposite direction. "Get behind me," one of the men instructed, stepping in front of Piper. _Between_ Piper and the Sentinels. Frank and Chantelle quickly did as they were told. Whatever made this man think he could take on three Sentinels, he certainly didn't want to be standing between them.

The man in front pulled his hat down a little, hiding his face. As the Sentinels approached, he held out his hand. "Stop! I order you to stand down in the name of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You _will not_ cross onto Canadian soil."

The Sentinels landed a few feet away. "Orders not accepted."

"Override Mendelson dash J seven nine four." His voice was a little different now. A different accent, maybe. Or maybe he was hearing things. "You will _not_ cross the border. These three are under Canadian authority now. You _will_ comply."

Silence for a moment. Then, to Frank's surprise, the Sentinels took a step back. "Override accepted. Awaiting orders."

"Holy shit, that actually worked." The man in front was practically giggling now, his voice back to normal.

"Don't push your luck," one of the others advised in a thick German accent. "Tell them to get out of here."

"Right." The man in front turned back to the Sentinels. "Return to base immediately."

Another pause. "Command not accepted."

"Shit," the man hissed. "They must be able to override it. They can probably hear us right now."

"Why haven't they attacked?" the other one asked.

The third man finally spoke, his voice low. "They're waiting for us to tip our hand. So tip it."

"You mean…?"

"Yes."

"If you say so." The man in front tipped his hat back a little, revealing his face. "You're speaking to Miles Nolan, Vice President of the United States of America. Well … _former_ Vice President, anyway. I'm a political refugee now at the consent of the Canadian government. These people are under my protection. I'm recording this and live-streaming it now to my associates. If you take any action against us, this goes … bacterial?"

"Viral," the man with the German accent hissed.

"Viral. Think about that. Whoever you're working for, however high up in the government you _think_ you are … can you really afford that sort of publicity? Attacking the Vice President, two Canadian Mounties, and three unarmed civilians who are seeking asylum? Think about it." He took a step forward. "Think _really_ hard."

The Sentinels froze. Waiting for orders. Finally, they turned. Without a word, they flew off. Former Vice President Nolan breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get out of here before they change their minds. Kurt?"

The third man shook his head. "Wait. They tracked you here. How?"

Slowly, Piper struggled to her feet. "I think that's my fault."

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

"I think that's my fault."

Piper gripped her father's hand tightly, swaying a little as she stood. "The people who are behind the Sentinels … the Mutant Affairs Advisory Board … they put something in my collar. They're using it to track me. You'll be safer if you leave me— What's so funny?" One of them was laughing. Chuckling, really.

"Hold still," the voice answered. "If they programmed the collar with some sort of shock, this might hurt a little, but only for a moment. Ready?"

"For what?" But before he could answer, a sudden jolt of pain shot through her neck, bringing her to her knees. But it was worth it. Immediately, she could see. The light was so sudden, it took her a moment to realize she was using her power. She could see three … Mounties? One of them had said he was the Vice President, and he certainly looked familiar. But it was another one who had her attention, her collar floating above his hand, twisting about as if it were putty in his hands. Quickly, it melted away, leaving nothing but a pile of metal goo in the snow by his feet.

Suddenly, the vision snapped. She was on her knees in the snow. "What was that?" one of the others asked.

"I'm sorry," Piper apologized. "I can usually control it. I think the collar … bottled it up somehow, so when it all came out … I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She felt a hand close around hers, drawing her to her feet again. " _Never_ be sorry for using your gifts. _Never_ apologize for that."

"I—" _I'm sorry_ was what she'd almost said, but she stopped herself. "Who are you?"

A dripping noise told her the collar was melting. "You can call me Magneto. Clearly, whoever left you here had no idea who they were dealing with, or they would never have put their tracking device inside a _metal_ collar. It's a mistake we can't count on them repeating. They'll be more careful next time."

"Next time?"

"They'll be looking for us."

"But we're safe here, right? On Canadian soil? That's what you said."

"That was a bluff," the first man answered. "The Canadian government has no idea we're here. Though I suspect that won't last long now. We may have overplayed our hand."

"But you're the Vice President."

" _Former_ Vice President," he corrected. "Which amounts to exactly nothing in terms of actual authority or influence. _Less_ than nothing once they accuse me of aiding a mutant terrorist cell. That was a trick that'll only work once."

"Then let's take advantage of it," Magneto agreed. "Nightcrawler, get us out of here."

Piper could feel a hand squeeze hers. There was some sort of _whoosh_ , and suddenly her stomach was churning. "What was—" But before she could finish her question, it happened again. And again.

After the fourth time, she passed out.

* * *

 **Dr. Alvin Mendelson, 60**

"How the hell did they know your override code?"

Alvin shrugged as Judah continued fuming. "Beats me. I used it when I picked up Verona. Maybe—"

"Really?" Judah growled. "You expect us to believe that?"

Alvin sighed. "You think _I_ gave it to them?"

"You expect us to believe you _didn't_?"

"I expect you to use some common sense, though that might be a bit too much to expect," Alvin countered. "What would be the point of giving it to them? All it did was buy them a few seconds. We overrode the Sentinels from here almost immediately."

" _Almost_ immediately," Nicholas pointed out. "If it had been another situation…"

"But it wasn't," Alvin reminded him. "We weren't pressed for time. They weren't going anywhere – not until they were certain the Sentinels wouldn't follow. They didn't want to risk leading us back to … wherever their base is."

"Which could be anywhere," Judah reasoned. "The one that Nolan called Kurt – he's the one who attacked the president. He's a teleporter. They could be anywhere. If they haven't already decided to relocate somewhere safer. But we have bigger problems than that."

"You mean the fact that our former Vice President is helping the mutants?" Nicholas offered.

Judah shook his head. "We already knew that was a possibility from the moment he revealed himself as a mutant. No, our bigger problem is the third one."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "The third one?"

"The third Mountie," Alvin agreed.

"They're not Mounties," Judah grumbled.

"Whatever. Whatever he did, we've completely lost the signal from Piper's collar."

Nicholas shook his head. "So he's … what? Telekinetic? He can interfere with mechanical signals? Or the metal the collars are made of might be — _oh_."

Judah nodded. "Exactly."

"The reports said he was dead."

"The reports based on the information we collected at the _school,_ " Judah pointed out. "One of the few bits of information we managed to glean from their computers. Almost everything else was trashed, but information about the Alkali Lake incident survived. We assumed it was because the data was some of the most recent, but what if it was deliberate?"

"They wanted us to think he was dead," Nicholas agreed. "It makes sense. Now we know better. The question is, what do we do about it?"

"Not much we _can_ do until we figure out where they're hiding," Judah admitted. "Like I said, they could be anywhere. They managed to give us the slip … _this_ time."

Alvin had to fight hard not to smile. "So we move out?"

Nicholas nodded. "We move out."

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 12  
** **March 27th, 13:55 AKST**

"Where do you think they're taking us?"

Penelope didn't expect an answer. Not a real one, at least. Chances were, none of the other coaches knew where they were going, either. Why would the MAAB tell them and risk the chance of … what? If someone was going to try to rescue them, wouldn't they have done it during the Games? When there were more people to _rescue_?

Still, they probably figured it was better not to take their chances. Ian shrugged as the three of them settled into seats on the plane – seats that were nowhere near the windows, which were shaded and locked. The MAAB wasn't taking any chances that they might be able to figure out where they were headed. All they knew for certain was that they were leaving Alaska.

"Who knows?" Maria agreed. "Could be anywhere. Even if they haven't figured out where they want to hold next year's Games yet—"

"They haven't," Penelope confirmed. For the past few days, most of their attention had been on manipulating _this_ year's videos. From the look of things, they hadn't even had to do much editing. They could simply cut out the parts where the contestants mentioned that they had been instructed to kill, and leave the parts where they talked about _killing_. Cut out any mention of being taken from their families, and leave any mention of being willing to kill to get back to them. Simple. Straightforward. Anyone could do it.

It was almost frightening.

Almost. They'd known from the start, after all, what the MAAB meant to do with the results of the Games. And they'd gone along with it anyway. _She'd_ gone along with it anyway. She'd done exactly what they'd wanted her to do, exactly what they'd _expected_ , because that was what had been necessary in order to survive.

"Even if they had decided, they wouldn't risk taking us there immediately," Vincent pointed out. "No point in keeping us there for a whole year, taking the chance that we might figure out where we are and organize some sort of breakout."

Penelope couldn't help a smile. He was still thinking about escape. As if they would ever truly be able to escape. She'd tried that. It hadn't worked. And she wasn't about to waste the rest of her life in one futile escape attempt after another. They had always found her. And they always would. So she might as well make the most of the life she _had_ , rather than pining for the one she wanted.

Before they could say anything else, Alvin climbed into the plane along with them. "Looks like we're about ready to take off. Doc says Penelope's in the clear, and there's not much of a reason to stick around here anymore."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. What did that mean? Why the sudden hurry to leave? She'd been fit to travel for at least a day or two now. What had they been stalling for?

But she knew better than to ask. She wouldn't get an answer out of Alvin. "Tell Anita thank you for the work she did," Penelope offered. "I mean, Doctor…" She hesitated. Anita had never actually said what her last name was.

"Donahue," Alvin finished. "Anita Donahue."

Penelope froze. "Donahue."

"Is there a problem?" Alvin asked.

Penelope shook her head. It wasn't a _problem._ Just a surprise. She wondered whether they knew. Whether she was right. But asking … asking might jeopardize whatever Anita was trying to do – assuming she was _trying_ to do anything. "No problem," Penelope assured him. "I just thought the name sounded familiar from somewhere. I must have been mistaken."

But she wasn't.

* * *

 **Linda Donahue, 67  
** **Co-Founder of New Sanctuary  
** **March 28th, 09:16 MST**

"How is she?"

Linda looked up from the laundry she was folding. "Well, and a fine good morning to you, too."

Erik shook his head. "Good morning."

Linda smiled a little. "Good morning. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Not at all," Erik answered coolly. "Now _how is she_?"

Linda put aside her laundry. "I know we talked about the risks of bringing her here, but—"

"We can't force her to leave now," Erik insisted.

Linda shook her head. "You misunderstood me. I'm trying to apologize. When you suggested taking her in, I had reservations because … well, because of what happened the _last_ time we gave refuge to a few young mutants who were fleeing the government. It didn't end well."

That was an understatement, of course. She had loved Penelope and Harper dearly, but if it hadn't been for them … well, she might still be living peacefully in their old sanctuary in Washington, rather than hiding out in some abandoned cabins in the middle of the Canadian wilderness. But try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Penelope and Harper had needed her then. And now…

"I can't guarantee that _this_ will end well," Erik admitted. "We know they tracked her to the Canadian border, at the very least. I melted the tracker that was in her collar, but we've shown some of our cards now. They know Miles is with us, and they know we're in Canada."

"Canada is pretty big."

"It is. But if the Canadian government is persuaded to help them, it could shrink very quickly. You were right about the risk we're taking to help her."

"But wrong to doubt that it was a risk worth taking," Linda assured him. "Have you talked to her? The poor thing was half-frozen when you found her. She owes you her life."

"So she's going to live?"

"She is if _I_ have anything to say about it," Linda smirked. "With enough time to rest and recover, she should be right as rain. Well, almost. There's nothing I can do about her eyes, and it'll be a while before she feels up to running circles around us, but…"

"But she's well enough to talk."

"For a little while, at least. Her parents are with her now, but they must be exhausted. Poor things haven't left her side since you arrived. But that's how parents are, I suppose. That's certainly how I was with _my_ daughter, every time she came down with the slightest sniffle. But what else can you do but love them?"

For a moment, she thought Erik might say something in response. She kept trying to give him openings, a chance to talk about whatever might be bothering him. So far, though, she'd had no luck. "Not a thing," he agreed, heading for Piper's cabin.

Linda followed, and, sure enough, Piper's parents were still there, sitting beside her bed. "Who's there?" Piper asked, but, after a second, she relaxed. "It's you."

"Hello, dear," Linda smiled, taking a seat beside Piper's father. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Piper's power had something to do with seeing the future. Maybe that was enough to make up for the loss of her eyes. She hoped it would be. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was," Piper answered vaguely. "A bit … disoriented. And very tired. But … alive. That's something."

Erik took a seat on the other side of the room. "Do you think you could answer a few questions?"

* * *

 **Piper Galligan, 17**

That was the last thing she wanted to do.

Piper hesitated as the room fell silent. No one wanted to speak for her. Even her parents, who had done their best to protect her, to shield her, didn't want to step in and say that she wasn't ready to talk about what had happened. Maybe they thought talking about it would help. Maybe they had questions of their own that they still wanted answered. She had told them a little, but had kept most of the details to herself. Even during their days in the wilderness, she'd avoided the topic. She didn't want them to think…

What? That she was a murderer? A monster? They would find out soon enough exactly what she had done in order to survive. The MAAB was planning to air the footage of the Games. Even here, in what she had gathered was essentially the middle of nowhere, it was only a matter of time before they saw it. Maybe it was better if they heard it from her.

But that didn't mean she was ready.

Finally, Linda spoke. "I have a few things to get ready for lunch. Frank, Chantelle, if you would be so kind…"

"But—" her father started.

"No buts, dear. There are a lot of mouths to feed, and many hands makes light work."

A lot of mouths to feed? How many of them were there? Maybe that didn't matter at the moment. Footsteps by the door revealed that her parents were leaving, along with Linda. Piper quickly glanced into the future – enough to see that they were really gone, and that the other man – Magneto – was still seated in a chair on the other side of the room. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Why would that be better?" But as much as she didn't want to admit it, it _was_. It _was_ better to think that her parents wouldn't have to hear what she'd done. Not yet, at least. Magneto's interest, after all, was probably strategic. He wanted to know what he was up against. He didn't care what _she'd_ done, what she'd been forced to do in order to survive.

Did he?

"If you want me to ask them to come back, I can," Magneto offered.

"No," Piper answered, a little more forcefully than she had intended. "No, I'm … I'm okay. What do you want to know?"

"Let's start from the beginning. Diana said there were thirty of you. Do you have any idea how they decided who to recruit?"

"I wasn't _recruited_ ," Piper spat. He made it sound like she'd chosen to go with them. Like they'd convinced her to participate. But they hadn't. Not really. She'd gone with the Sentinels willingly, but only because she'd seen the alternative – what they would have done to her family if she hadn't gone. And she'd had no idea – not then – what they'd wanted her for. If she had…

Maybe she still would have gone. Maybe she wouldn't have. Maybe it didn't matter. She _had_ gone. The Games had happened. There was nothing she could do to change that now. But to suggest that she'd had any choice in the matter at all…

"So why don't you tell me what _did_ happen."

"The Sentinels took me. Well, there was a man with them, too. Doctor something. Brenner, maybe? I'm not sure. I never really saw him after that. He wasn't around as much as some of the others."

"The others?"

"The rest of the MAAB. They're the ones who arranged the Games. They wanted to use us to convince the rest of the country that they should be afraid of mutants, and … I think … I think they got what they wanted. We did exactly what they wanted us to."

"You did what you _had_ to in order to survive."

Piper swallowed hard. She'd been trying to tell herself the same thing for days. But that didn't make it any better. That didn't change what she'd done. Now that she was certain she was going to live, it was all beginning to sink in. The two boys she'd killed. The others she'd been prepared to kill. That hadn't been the MAAB. It had been _her_. She'd chosen to kill them in order to survive.

But the worst part was, she didn't regret it. _Couldn't_ regret it. Because as hard as this was – as much pain as she was in, as hard as it was to sleep, as much as she wished none of this had ever happened – she was _alive_. She was alive, when the only other option would have been death. That had to count for something.

It had to count for _everything._

"I did," she agreed. "I did what I had to. They told us the day after we got there that's what we would have to do. That's when I met Diana. I was sitting right next to her when they told us. It didn't even sink in then – not really – that she was going to die if I was going to live. I just wanted … I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted a _friend_."

Footsteps. Piper felt a hand close around hers. "Tell me about her."

Piper hesitated a moment. But only a moment. When she opened her mouth again, it all came pouring out. How she and Diana had decided to train together. How Ian had invited Akil to join them because Diana had trouble falling asleep. How the three of them had found out that some of the MAAB had voted against the Games and were trying to help them. How it hadn't done any good, and they'd been taken to the island anyway.

The island. The parachutes. The boy who had shot Diana down. How she and Akil had taken care of Diana until it was clear she wasn't going to make it, how she had fallen asleep to find out what Diana wanted them to do, and Akil had killed Diana, inadvertently trapping her in the dreamland, which had led to everything else. Diana had led them to the boy … the boy she had killed. But not the one who had shot down Diana's parachute. That had brought them closer to the storm they'd gone to investigate, which had robbed her of her sight but had also brought them to Victoria.

Victoria, who had saved their lives. Who had sacrificed herself so that she and Akil could get away. Akil, who had saved her any number of times while they'd been fleeing the collapsing edges of the island, until they'd come face to face with the only other mutant still alive on the island. She'd tried to save Akil, but…

"But it was too late," Piper finished, choking back tears. " _I_ was too late. The current reached him, and … and that was it. He was dead. I would have died, too, but the MAAB turned our collars off. I didn't realize then what that meant … that they wanted two survivors. I thought … I don't know what I thought. Maybe that they were trying to give me a chance. A chance to kill the other girl. I certainly wouldn't have stood a chance in a fair fight. I was losing as it was when they … they had to tear us apart. I kept trying to fight. Trying to kill her, even though I didn't have to."

Finally, Piper fell silent. It was only then that she realized how hard she was gripping Magneto's hand. "That's … probably not the sort of details you wanted," she admitted. "But I don't really … I don't know anything about their plans. I don't know _why_ they chose us. Why they chose _me_. There are certainly more powerful mutants out there."

"There certainly are," Magneto agreed. "But from what you said, I think that _was_ the point."

"What do you mean?"

"If they'd only chosen the most powerful, the most destructive, those who could cause the most damage, that wouldn't prove their point. People would continue to be afraid of mutants with powers like mine. That's not what they want. They want the world to be afraid of mutants like _you_. Ordinary people. _Children_."

"I'm not a child."

"Maybe not. But enough of you were. This other girl who won – Penelope – you said she was twelve years old? And that some of the others were thirteen? Fourteen? Those are children, Piper. I'm not saying _anyone_ deserves this, that any of _you_ deserved it, but _children_ …" He trailed off. "I wish I could tell you that it's over. That you're safe. But I don't think any of us will be safe for long – _anywhere_. Even here, we're not beyond their reach. Not forever. We can evade them for a little while, but it's only a matter of time."

 _Even here._ Piper relaxed her grip a little. "Where are we?"

"Would you like to see?"

Piper tensed. "Is that a joke?"

"Not at all. I know your power only works in short bursts, but that should be enough to get a look around. Of course, if you don't think you're ready…"

Piper shook her head. "No. No, I'm ready." She sat up a little. Her stomach was still throbbing, but her curiosity got the better of her. A quick glance into the future was enough to get a feel for where things were in the room, and she slowly climbed out of bed. Magneto led her to the door, and she took another look.

There were cabins. At least two dozen, and more tents set up around them. Almost like a campground of sorts. All around, people were bustling this way and that. Some were hanging out laundry. Others were busy cooking around a fire that seemed to be burning without any wood. A few children ran by, one of them racing through the fire without a second thought. A boy about her age watched from the side, laughing. Then the vision snapped.

Magneto squeezed her hand. "Welcome to New Sanctuary."

"Who are these people?"

"Most are mutants, like ourselves. Runaways, refugees, fugitives from the government. We've been leading them here, to … almost safety. Nowhere is truly safe for our kind, but we do our best. These are the luckier ones. They managed to escape without much lasting damage."

"But the others?"

"Look to your left."

Another glimpse into the future showed her a different picture. Outside the cabin beside hers was an old woman, rocking back and forth in her chair. A young boy was huddled at her feet, bandages around his arms and legs. A man hobbled by, his purple skin covered in scars. Piper broke the vision on her own.

"Some are fleeing the government," Magneto continued. "Others are simply escaping humanity's cruelty. They've been beaten. Tortured. Scorned and abandoned by their friends and family – all because of who they are. Because of who _we_ are. We offer a place of refuge for all."

"So they're all mutants?"

"Not all of us," came a voice from behind her. Linda. "Some of us just happen to believe that providing a sanctuary for those in need is the right thing to do. Human or mutant – it makes no difference here. Both you and your parents are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"She's right," Magneto confirmed. "Mutants and humans, side by side. Charles would have…" For a moment, there was silence. "An old friend of mine would have been proud. Probably amused, too, if it weren't for the circumstances. But Linda is right. You and your parents are welcome to stay."

Piper nodded a little. She would have to talk to her parents. But she already knew what their answer was going to be. They couldn't go home. They had nowhere else to turn. These people were offering them refuge. Safety. That was more than they were going to get anywhere else. Piper managed a smile.

"Thank you."

* * *

 **Penelope – 098, 13  
** **November 4th, 21:42 MST**

"Thank you for joining us."

Penelope had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. Nicholas spoke as if they'd really had a choice in the matter. The four of them – she, Ian, Maria, and Vincent – had been hard at work for months at the MAAB's instruction. The others had been reluctant at first to participate in any way in what the MAAB had planned for next year's Games, but she'd managed, at last, to convince them otherwise.

It was the only reasonable thing to do. They were the MAAB's prisoners, no matter how much they might wish otherwise. They couldn't change what was going to happen. All they could do was try to exert a little influence. And they could only do _that_ if they appeared to be cooperating. And sometimes _appearing_ to cooperate … well, sometimes it required a little actual cooperation, as well.

So she had gone along with it when the MAAB had asked her to help them select a site for the new Games and to iron out some of the wrinkles from the previous one. The previous Games had done their job, of course. Public opinion of mutants was at an all-time low. New regulations and restrictions had been approved across party lines without a second thought or a moment's debate. The Games had served their purpose, but they could be smoother. They could be _better_.

That was her job. She had been working with Lillian and Alvin to design a better arena. An island had been good for keeping the contestants contained, but had done little to drive them together, to force them to interact – until she'd started collapsing the edges, of course. Next year, they wouldn't have that problem.

There was also the issue of training. The previous year's training had been haphazard at best. Not all of that was the coaches' fault, of course. They hadn't had much to work with as far as supplies were concerned. This year, all of that would change. Training would be more structured, with better facilities. Facilities tailored to their abilities.

Which was the next step – the step she suspected Nicholas had summoned them to discuss. Their arena was prepared. Their training facility was ready. But they hadn't discussed the actual contestants…

"Pleasure's all ours," Ian grumbled. "How's the election going?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Still too close to call. But it doesn't matter."

He was right. Both candidates had pledged to uphold humanity's rights, freedoms, and dignity – by cracking down on unauthorized use of mutant powers. If anything, each candidate was trying to appear _more_ extreme than the other, both appealing to humanity's worst fears and prejudices. Fear of mutants had united the country across party lines, across generational gaps, across religious boundaries. They were united in their fear of the unknown. It didn't matter who won. The Games would go on. It was inevitable.

Maybe it had always been inevitable. Maybe this was simply what people _did_ when confronted with the unknown. The uncomfortable. The mysterious. Maybe it was even an understandable reaction to a few mutants who had shown humanity what they were truly capable of. Maybe it was just … human.

But that didn't make it right.

"I know there are still a few months until the Games," Nicholas continued. "But it's never too early to start preparing for what we might be dealing with." He gestured to a stack of files on the table in front of him. "I think we should start having a look through these." He smiled a little.

"We have some interesting prospects this year."

* * *

" _There is no land of tolerance. There is no peace. Not here, or anywhere else."_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And that's that ... until next time. Thanks for sticking around, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing this. That's it for this particular story, but I've had far too much fun for this to be a one-story endeavor. You can expect another one of these once _Hide Your Fires_ reaches the Games. (I should be able to pick up the pace on that one now that I'm not juggling this one, too.)

Until then, thanks for reading. I'll see you on the other side! ('Til we meet again!)


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